We all know the feeling. We all remember what it was like to look at people in their twenties and be in awe of the way they carried themselves. There was like this magical aura that surrounded them, and we wanted to know what it was like to be a part of that high life kingdom where anything was possible.

Adults.
What does that word even mean anymore?

Because here we are. We conquered the teenage years, threw on our big kid pants and legally bought our own cheap wine, but there was nothing magical about it. When the truth was finally revealed-that those fascinating twenty-somethings have absolutely no idea what they are doing-the whole thing just kind of fell flat. Where are our socks? Why won't the car start? What the hell is insurance? Yeah, we can buy and eat all the ice cream we want, but we really just end up feeling gross after the thirtieth spoonful.

Soon enough, growing up stops being exciting or mysterious or even somewhat intriguing. It becomes something that is actually completely terrifying. Don't get me wrong, it's not a bad thing. It's necessary and important, and can lead us to purpose and even happiness. However, there are too many things you start to notice, too many things that change all at once.

A brief history: I went to college right out of high school, as one does. I spent four semesters happily putting classes and responsibilities in the back seat as my friends and I cruised through weeks filled with reality TV marathons and drawing giant penises in the snow. We were kids. All we needed were passing grades and each other.


After that, I left and moved to a place where I knew no one. I lived in my own apartment for two years and went to a school with two buildings and four hundred students. I didn't make many friends, but I did what I went there to do. Even so, it didn't take too long for me to reroute again, and here I am. I live with my parents in the town that I grew up in and I go to the university down the road. It's the same type of school I went to three years ago with the same types of people, but I am so, so different than I was before. Life threw me back into this repetitive loop of classes and backpacks and homework while also pushing me towards this awkward adulthood that no one seems to understand. We talk about it in ways that let us laugh about it, but there's a certain turmoil there.



I've realized it more and more in the past couple weeks. I don't know how to grow up.

So there are the basics. You know how to change a tire. You make your own appointments. You own your own toaster. These little things on the adulthood checklist matter, because they signify transition, but they're not enough. I listen to the same music I did when I was fifteen and my walls are still lined with unframed movie posters. You could easily mistake my bedroom for that of a high school student. You could even assume such a thing just by looking at me. In fact, people often think I'm at least four years younger than I really am. It's hard to feel like an adult when you don't look the part.

But the thing is, if I changed everything-if I cleared off the walls and dressed differently and even revamped my iTunes- would it matter? If I still don't even know what it means to grow up, it makes no difference. I can own a hundred toasters and still be stuck in this odd limbo.



And yet, I look back to who I was when I was four years younger. Since my first time away from home, I've had four jobs, lived in three cities, dated two entirely different people, and changed career paths nearly eight times. That all has to count for something, right? I mean, I certainly learned a lot from those experiences. I met countless new people and handled a fair amount of disappointment. I adapted. I grew.

Is that the secret--that there is no secret? That there is no perfect moment in which everything falls into place and you suddenly become a proper model of logic and sense? Maybe the whole idea of being an adult is simply a myth, and you make your own way. You reach your own standard of growth at your own pace. The checklist will always be there, but there isn't really a rulebook for everything else. For me, it can sometimes feel like a void that I'm floating through a little too quickly or a little too slowly, and I don't know what's at the end of it. All I know is that there's something, and that everyone else is floating too. Very few of us float gracefully.


But it's not something that has to be morbid. Of course, we're going to overthink everything and second-guess ourselves pretty much all the time. That comes with the territory. They always like to say that it's the journey that matters the most, and I know there's a tremendous truth in that, cliché aside. I get frustrated going day by day at school and work, wondering if I'm doing enough to figure everything out and work towards a future that will mean something. I forget to give myself credit for the good things, for the times I take on fears and learn more about who I am. I don't know what it will all look like by the next stage of my life, whatever that may be, but there will be so much more to gain and discover. I'll probably always have wrinkled posters on my walls and that's not going to keep me out of the high life kingdom of adulthood. And if it does, I'll just make my own kingdom.