So can we be real here for a minute? Adulting is hard.
I had my life together more in high school than I do as a full blown adult.
Not a single clue!
Ironically, once I hit my early twenties I had a really hard time wanting to continue being an adult. It’s just really not fun sometimes.
I mean the paperwork, paying bills, working and of course the absolute worst- making your own doctors’ appointments.
Clearly I’m being a bit dramatic, but there is some truth to it, isn’t there?
We fight our entire teenage years to be independent and then wake up one day with the flu 5000 miles from home and realize that mom isn’t there to buy some generic 7UP or make chicken bouillon cube soup.
Another way to start rapidly falling down the “I dislike being an adult” hole, is to get a job that you REALLY hate. Been there done that, and I honestly had moments where I questioned what the purpose of life was. After all, the majority of my existence was spent at a place that was a living hell.
What’s funny is my entire perception of adulthood changed nearly overnight when I saw a woman who owned her imperfections perfectly.
I actually saw this woman everyday for two years, but I never talked to her. She was the professor of anthropology at my college and every morning we passed on the sidewalk. As I crawled to my 6:30 AM science labs barely awake, she would be walking confidently to her office ready to seize the day. I knew her routine was to get up at 5 AM, go to the gym, and then head to her office to get her work started before the sun was up. She was one of those people who owned a room without trying and eluded confidence and put-togetherness. One of those people that made you feel special, and small at the same time.
I’ll never forget seeing this woman walking one morning. She was barefoot, her heels hanging out of her briefcase while she juggled playing a Gameboy and munching on gummy worms. As I watched her it hit me that even the best of adults don’t always act like we believe adults should act. She was unattainably perfect, yet a child at the same time, and she was everything I wanted to be.
I wanted to own my imperfections and silliness like she did.
I always thought that being a “grown-up” meant knowing who you were and what you were doing, being successful, having a mortgage and knowing all the answers. As I started listening more, I realized that none of the adults I know have completely mastered “adulting”, they just pretend better than I do. So, my new goal is not to master the fine art of adulting. But instead, to work on being more inspired, learning, growing, and being open to meeting new people, seeing new places and hearing new ideas.
Because at the end of the day, life is short and there’s no reason we shouldn’t indulge in the occasional gummy worm and vintage Game Boy session.