I had written a blog post a couple days ago, and my brother made me take it down because he thought it made me look bad. (He’s just looking out for me. He wants me married just like everyone else in the family.) But I’ve decided to post it again because 1) I won’t be able to write another post for a couple days and 2) this blog is a creative exercise. I’m trying to write things for the sake of writing, and not necessarily to influence people about what they think of me. So here it is. (Just don’t tell Troy it’s back up.)

A couple years ago I was skiing in Colorado when I went into a coffee shop and pick up a Time magazine. In it was an article titled “Grow Up? Not So Fast” that talked about a growing societal phenomenon called the Peter Pan Syndrome; or in other words, it’s young adults who don’t—or won’t—grow up.

I found the article so fascinating because it finally diagnosed what I had inadvertently been doing for the last few years—basically stalling adulthood.

The symptoms lied dormant long before they manifested themselves. It started back in adolescence, when my parents immediately overfed and underworked me. Most parents stop the flow of milk and honey when their kids become legal adults, but my parents kept the tap running, and I didn’t stopped drinking. I lived in a Neverland of free schooling, free cars, free skiing and golf, free trips around the world, free 5th row Jazz tickets, and many more free “happy thoughts.”

But for the last few years I’ve watched my friends leave Neverland. They’ve gotten married, moved away to big cities, and work grown-up jobs. I started dreading the question “So Jenny, what do you do?” because I didn’t have a grown-up, respectable response. “Uh, well, I take trips.” It wasn’t until 2 years ago when I got a grown-up job that I had been never so eager to answer that question.

Growing up has been good; however, one foot still lives in Neverland. I still take skiing trips to Chile with my dad. I still drive a nice car.

So my question is…do I hide my Neverland? There are some with much greater Neverlands; there are some with none. I don’t know. My case of Peter Pan syndrome has hindered previous relationship, so I try to flaunt the grown-up “I-have-a-job-and-put-money-in-my-stock-account” side of me and hide the rich kid, “I-drive-an-Audi-A4 side. Although Neverland is all I have known, I know there is a bigger world out there—with mortgages, car payments, and budgets, and I can live in that world. But do I want to? Do I hand back the car keys and say, “No thanks Mom and Dad, I want to live in debt?”

I can hear the alligator with the ticking clock (aka “reality check”) ticking, and it’s getting closer, and closer, and closer. But I’ll face it when it comes. Until then, I’m going to keep thinking happy thoughts and pretend to fly.

**So if you’re thinking you want to date Jenny, don’t be intimidated by her Neverland. It welcomes all who are looking for some fun.