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Peter Pan Syndrome: The Refusal to Grow Up and the Perpetual Infantilization of the Self

  

It’s a 11 pm on 11/11.

I am supposed to be writing something important. To try and convince a client why the use of AI is okay for the brand. Instead, I’m penning my second blog post for the day. Probably my shadow self (Jung dodappa FTW) making up for all the othla times I’ve manifested this year.

Anyway, back to the point. Or straying away from it further. Wheeee…

 

Peter Pan Syndrome.

 

According to ChatGPT, Dr. Dan Kiley, who popularized the term in his 1983 book The Peter Pan Syndrome: Men Who Have Never Grown Up, defined it as a condition where adults exhibit emotional immaturity and avoid typical adult roles such as career, financial management, and stable relationships.

 

Well, nigga, does it feel good to hop jobs every 18 months with a matcha (or whatever fruity fucking drink is in vogue that season) in hand ignoring the double text from your situationship?

 

I honestly threw up a little writing that sentence. It was probably the undigested rum. Or the stale meat that pushed down the rum.

 

This blog is an ode to the friend who did the same mistake I did 3-odd years ago. Fuck, even two years go. Well, she’s young. And like all young people, is stupid and will learn from her own mistakes. Surrogate mistakes never made a stable (wo)man.

 

What defines a “young person”?

 

Rahul Gandhi was trolled for being a “youth leader” at 40. He probably still is, idk.

 

I get trolled for admitting I’m old at 35. People now take offense on my part for being called old. I don’t give a damn. I’m just too old and tied of it all. Living takes a lot of energy. I don’t have enough to spend it on being offended. You do you, man. You do you.

 

Folks of today (kids in the mid-30s who try to “embrace their inner child” and all that nonsense) show the emotional maturity of a walnut. Unable to come to grips with the void that opened up in the back of their amygdala when the clock struck 12 on the third day of the 30th autumn they witnessed.


Something shifts when you grow old. It’s a sudden, staggering shift. Like a chameleon that’s just molted overnight.

Do chameleons molt? Let’s assume they do.

Forever running from “adult responsibilities”, which is basic bitch adulting, is just pathetic and sad. Tyring to retain, reclaim and relive a time of nostalgia that’s long gone by trying to recreate the feeling of listing (watching) to Britney Spears’ Toxic for the first time except it’s Dua Lipa wearing her crotch-hugging pseudo swimsuit, with whatever song she’s got trending these days.

Look, (wo)man. If you’re in your 30’s it’s your birth right to start every 345th sentence with “Back in my days…”


If you don’t then there’s something wrong with you.

 

I’ll come back to this some day and write a proper post about my actual thoughts on the subject. Until then… why did you even come this far? You’re either too old or too curious. Both are recipes for disaster.

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