Level of Adulthood (list poem)

I measure adulthood by the items I own:
More than two sets of sheets,
a working suitcase,
a snow shovel,
tempered hope,
a record player and basket of records,
a box of cards my grandparents wrote each other during WWII,
an entire shelf of supplements and vitamins,
wallpaper,
matching couch pillows,
a turkey platter for hosting Thanksgiving,
new towels,
a set of matching lamps,
realistic expectations of others and self,
indoor slippers,
mostly matching silverware,
a dusty container in the basement of travel photos, letters, and cards from a young life I hardly recognize anymore,
one tablecloth,
an interest in birds,
a membership at the Co-op,
intentional color schemes,
windows with drapes,
self-doubt,
health insurance bills,
an intense fear of leaking pipes,
wisdom to know when silence is needed and when
words aren’t enough,
an everyday vocabulary that utilizes the following words: retirement, taxes, estate planning, credentials, insurance, personal growth, breakdown of cost,

responsibility.