I Tried Adulting, But It Wasn’t For Me

By the time you read this, I’ll be. . . 42. (I’ll essentially be the answer to life, so you should definitely take my advice.) I remember feeling like 42 was a million light years away, and I envisioned a life (and person) so different from the reality I’m living. I’ve learned a lot, shared a lot, and the only thing I know for sure is that I’ve got a whole lot more to learn and share. I probably felt more in-the-know at 20 than I do at 42, but I’m starting to remember some things. . .

One of the most pivotal moments in my adult life was when I realized I really, really dislike being an adult. Remind me again why we rushed away from our youth for this? I mean, yes, I love setting my own rules (ha), going to bed whenever I want (ha ha), and eating however I like (HA HA HA), but the truth is, being an adult is so much more limiting than anything that came before it. It’s exhausting, and we’re all expected to just know how this whole adulthood thing works, even though it’s the first time for all of us.

So, look, I tried adulting, and it wasn’t for me.

This may sound a little reckless, but I promise I’m not jumping the shark here, I’m just making some adjustments to the standards. I’ll be a great parent still, I’m not giving up and checking out. I’ll pay my bills, but sometimes I’m also gonna eat ice cream for breakfast. I’ll work for a living, but I’m also going to splurge on LEGO Mini Figures for myself (not my kids). I’m definitely going to wear the things you think are silly, I’m going to dance and sing, and I’m going to embrace the things I loved before this weird adulthood thing descended on me and snuffed out my light.

Midlife hit me square in the gut a couple of years back, and I decided that the woman I want to be is the fun-loving girl I once was.

We get so bogged down by this point in our lives—gone are the exciting days of wedding planning, buying first homes, and starting families. Who are we now? What next? Our kids (fingers crossed) sleep through the night now and things settle into a routine that can seem. . . dull. We work our butts off to pay the bills, afford the things, save for this and that, and we’re bombarded with messaging about what we should be doing by now, how we should be acting at this age, and I just. . . I don’t wanna.

What I want to do is embrace fun. I want to choose to be irresponsible (not dangerous, don’t worry, Mom) sometimes. I want to live.

I drive a sporty car that isn’t perhaps the most practical. I have Disney princess tattoos. I listen to loud music, I laugh even louder, I wear impractical shoes, and I shop at the same stores as my ten-year-old daughter. I enjoy every mouthful of delicious foods, and I pour myself a drink just ‘cause. And I get a lot of strange looks at school concerts, but you know what? I am happy, so please don’t pity me. This identity crisis isn’t a crisis at all—for me, wearing yoga pants was more of a crisis than the 4” heels I throw on now for no reason.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been told I’m just a “child in an adult’s body”, but you know what? I take that as a compliment because I’m tired of being a boring adult.