My kids stare wide-eyed when I reminisce about life before the internet and the days when we were literally tethered to the wall while chatting on the phone. I pay taxes, manage a mortgage, hold down a job, and juggle bills like a pro. I clip coupons, schedule doctor’s appointments, and express my frustrations about current events and my aching back. I even carry ibuprofen in my purse.
From the outside, I seem to be adulting like a champ. Yet, I find myself still waiting for that elusive feeling of being a “real” grown-up.
I always believed that reaching a specific age would magically bestow me with a sense of legitimacy. I waited for that feeling when I moved into my first apartment, bought my first car, and cast my vote in my first election. I anticipated it when I turned 21, even if I may have regressed a bit in maturity during that time. I thought it would come when I became a wife, a mother, and a homeowner. Surely, any day now, I would wake up feeling like I had everything figured out and was truly deserving of being taken seriously.
Yet here I am, still trudging through life as if wearing shoes that are just a tad too big. I may look like an adult and shoulder the immense responsibilities of raising four children, but I often feel like an impostor. I glance around at my fellow adults and can’t shake the feeling that they have it all figured out while I’m merely pretending.
There are moments when I definitely feel my age, especially when chatting with a college student born the year I graduated high school. Those encounters leave me feeling less like a grown-up and more like yesterday’s news.
Occasionally, after a particularly demanding day of fulfilling obligations, I catch a glimpse of what it means to feel like a “real adult.” But that sensation is fleeting. Just when I think I have it down, I stumble upon a situation that everyone else seems to navigate effortlessly, leaving me feeling like a novice despite my years of experience.
Perhaps it’s because I’m a woman in my 30s who races up the basement stairs when I turn off the light. Maybe it’s the way I laugh uncontrollably at silly memes or quote classic movies like Napoleon Dynamite. Or perhaps it’s the fact that I sometimes practice twerking (not well) in the bathroom mirror or savor ice cream for breakfast after sending the kids off to school.
I envision other adults calmly sipping their coffee—something I’ve never managed to enjoy—while they peruse the morning paper, filled with serious thoughts. They seem to have plans, purpose, and portfolios, while I’m just trying to tackle situations as they arise, hoping for the best.
Time flies, and I’m acutely aware that I’m not getting any younger. I’m navigating life, but it often feels like I’m doing so in a clumsy manner, far from the self-assured adult I always imagined I’d become. I still wait for the day when someone calls out my charade, exposing the truth that I’m not as grown-up as I appear.
Perhaps, once I’ve finished raising my kids, stopped trying to mask my grays, and hear the sweet voice of a grandchild calling me “Grandma,” I’ll finally feel validated and claim my rightful place in the adult world. But then again, maybe those moments will feel just like the other milestones that I thought would affirm my adulthood—passing moments that leave me wondering… if not now, when?
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Summary
In a whimsical reflection on adulthood, the author shares her experiences of navigating life in her 30s while grappling with feelings of inadequacy. Despite embodying the characteristics of a grown-up, she still longs for the feeling of legitimacy that she believed would come with age, leaving her to ponder if she’ll ever truly feel like a real adult.