Last summer, after our family returned home from our first week-long road trip, I noticed our pantry smelled. At first, it was only a slightly sour whiff here and there, but gradually it became more and more rank. Every time the pantry door opened exclamations of how bad it stunk sprung from my children’s mouths. The mystery of what “it” was eluded us. As one of the adults in the house, and the one most called upon to deal with messes, I knew I was expected to tear apart the pantry and discover the stenchy culprit. Yet whenever I thought of investigating, a single word stopped me…meh. I just couldn’t muster up the energy to hunt through the canned goods, chips, nuts, baking supplies, and all the kitchen gadgets we use about once a year. There were moments I felt guilty about it…sort of. When I opened the pantry door and the smell assaulted my nostrils, I was 100% committed to finding the source as soon as I was able. But later, there was that word again…meh. What was the worst that could happen? Eventually, whatever was rotting would be discovered when it was needed or would die off and go to pantry heaven.

One day, when the smell began to abate a bit, I thought of all the Adults in my life who would have discovered the source of the smell immediately and put it to death. I had visions of my ancestors (primarily the ones with vaginas) studiously going through the whole pantry to find one small onion rotting in the corner, or a rogue head of garlic that had leapt from the shelf. That’s what us Adults do, right? Find the funk, destroy it and return cleanliness to the world. Eventually, the smell did go away, the offender never found. Since then, I’ve noticed more and more “Meh” moments popping up. Usually, it happens when something Adult is expected of me. Reply to a text? Meh, I’ll get to it. Renew car tabs? Meh, most cops just give you a warning. Be social at the bus stop? Meh, I’d rather play Wordle. I had an epiphany one morning while showering (ah, the shower…the place where I get my best ideas and then promptly forget them as I’m toweling off) and it was this:  I suck butt at Adulting. Which got me thinking, have I always sucked as an Adult?

When we’re young we race toward adulthood full speed ahead, competing with our friends for the coveted Most Like an Adult Award (I got boobs! I got my period! I got a car AND my license! I got a job!) I spent my childhood wishing I was an adult, then became an Adult and thought…this is it? WTF?! No vast knowledge descended upon me…only the realization that the Adults who helped raise me were full of shit. They acted like they knew EVERYTHING. But they couldn’t possibly know everything because I had crossed the Adult threshold and knew NOTHING. Experience teaches us, but I’ve always felt different. When I look around at my fellow Adults, they seem to like being Adults. Not only do they like it, they kick ass at it! It’s like everyone was given a How-to Adult handbook but mine got lost in the mail, on backorder for the past 23 years. For instance, most folks are naturals at conversation, they seem to know exactly what to say in a welcoming way. I tend to fumble over words, avoid eye contact and sweat in bizarre places (like my fingers…finger sweat!? WTF?) Every conversation I have with another Adult has a tinge of awkwardness unless I know them well and to be honest it probably still has the awkwardness but those close to me are just used to it. 

Internally, I still feel 19. That age where you feel like you’re on the cusp of something great. You’re leaving childhood behind, the pesky 18, and becoming who you are. I’m perpetually in that mind set, waiting to finally become an Adult. The struggle is real. I suspect I’m just too lazy to fully embrace Adulthood. But I want to be better, which is one of the purposes of this blog. Accountability and connection have helped me in other areas of my life, why not Adulting? Also, I suspect I’m not the only one struggling with my Adulthood and/or keeping my shit together daily. If writing down my rambling thoughts helps other bad Adults, maybe brings a smile to their face, or a sense of relief they aren’t the only ones, or that they aren’t as bad at Adulting as me…then happy to be of service, friends. We’re in this together.