Growing up

So, I think I might have grown up yesterday. In fact I'm sure of it.

There's this odd feeling I'll get once every great while. I had it during the Master's conference while sitting on a piano bench in the Welch's living room, in the middle of the afternoon. Another time I was riding on the train in Boston, watching the sun set over the Charles. And a few summers back when I was lying on the dry, hard ground, trying to catch my breath after falling off my horse.

And it happened again yesterday. I was running from the library to my car wishing wildly that I hadn't worn a skirt and wondering why, in the blue blazes, Illinois couldn't be closer to the equator. As I grabbed the icy door handle, it hit me. "You've grown up, Kyla."

Now I haven't been able to figure these moments out. Do they mark some sort of an evolutionary leap, or are they maybe a culmination of a long, painstaking process? I'm wrestling with that, and I doubt I'll figure it out. All I know is that one moment, I'm humming happily along and the next I'm standing with my nose buried in this brick wall of realized maturity. It's overwhelming, really. And I think I'm also wondering if anyone else experiences this. Or if they could maybe at least politely drum up some pseudo-experience of their own so I don't feel like such a dingbat.