We're grown-ups now, and it's our turn to decide what that means.

When I dyed my hair red last weekend, my brother commented, in front of his girlfriend, that "I never dyed my hair because I didn't feel the need to rebel against Mum and Dad."
The unspoken flipside of this is that I must have dyed my hair as an act of rebellion.

When I first dyed my hair (bright pink) it was after watching "All Over Me" with my first girlfriend. It's a film about growing up, coming out and loss of innocence, with a riot grrrl soundtrack. One of the characters (played by Leisha Hailey, from the band The Murmurs, and later the L Word) has the most adorable candyfloss pink hair. And we wanted hair like her. And we wanted hair like each other. So we bleached our hair, and dyed it pink. We were 16. I'm perhaps giving my teenage self more credit than she deserves, but I really don't remember it as an act of rebellion, any more than having a girlfriend was an act of rebellion. It wasn't the expected thing I would do, but that doesn't mean I did it for rebellion's sake.

I dyed my hair red again in my early twenties, again because I wanted to. I think I must have had a shop job at the time, either in a second hair record shop, or a fairtrade shop, I can't when it was exactly. But it wasn't a big deal. I was the same person as before, but with red hair.

And this time, almost ten years after first dyeing my hair, it is still not an act of rebellion. My parents may not approve of some of my lifestyle choices (my weight and nose piercings being the two big ones), but I hope they recognise that I didn't make them because they wouldn't approve.
I am holding down a full-time job in the public sector, with both my immediate line manager and overall manager telling me how fantastic my hair looks. They are not telling me that my "act of rebellion" isn't appreciated, or that it is inappropriate. I am good at my job. I have red hair. I am not rebelling against my parents, nor against "the establishment". I just like having red hair. And the colour of my hair is not affecting my ability to do my job. I know, incredible huh?

I do not fit the conventional ideal of "what is attractive" or "how people should live". I am overweight. I do not have shaved legs or armpits. I have two nose rings. And I now have red hair. I have relationships with men and women, sometimes (shock horror) at the same time. I don't watch tv. I have vegan aspirations. I can't drive yet but that doesn't bother me because I ride my bike everywhere.

My brother is, in my opinion, fairly conventional. He is conventionally attractive, slim, dresses in smart-to-trendy clothes. He has had a string of what appear to me to be fairly conventional heterosexual relationships. He is training to be a primary school teacher.

Sometimes I wonder if his comments and criticisms about my "rebellious lifestyle" are perhaps an expression of ennui at the path he has mapped out for himself. Are the people who criticise us for not conforming to the way they feel adults should live, are they secretly jealous that we are making our own rules whilst they feel trapped by having to do what society expects of them?

This is me, as an adult. I am not rebelling. I may do things that other adults wouldn't do, that don't fit their vision of what adults are supposed to do, but that doesn't matter. I am confident that I am living a life of which I can be proud.

This xkcd comic hits the nail on the head: We're grown-ups now, and it's our turn to decide what that means

I find the idea that I can create my own version of adulthood an intoxicating concept. I get to choose where I work, where I live, who I spend time with. I get to choose what I eat, what I spend my money on, and what I do with my free time. I can make all these choices whilst still playing by the rules of society's prescribed living, even if I am bending them slightly at times.

And if I start breaking the rules, there's an even wider world out there...