When I was younger I thought there was nothing more adult than the prospect of putting my handbag on the passenger seat. As you may have gathered having both a car and a handbag were crucial in being an adult, and every so often when I am in my car by myself I look over to the passenger seat and think ‘Fuck. Here I am. All grown up’. And here the novelty ends.
My generations obsession with needing to turn every noun into a verb and every verb into even more of one knows no bounds. Sure I think it’s weird that Instagram is filled with Adventurers, Wifey’s and whatever another one of those things is but the one that shits me the most is ‘adulting’. I feel like we (i.e millennials) are that class clown like every time we say something remotely clever we have to make a fart joke just to show people that we haven’t changed and they can relax. And by saying the word adulting and making more references to unicorns than a cartoon from the 90s ever did, we are calming everyone’s nerves, mainly our own, constantly.
Sure growing up is hard and sometimes we cave to the pressure of society, and by this I mean falling into stereotypes cast upon on. Baby boomers aren’t retiring like the generations to them previously; as a result we can’t get a job once we graduate and can’t leave Priceline till we have one either. Because of this we stay at home till we’re much older, women know ironing isn’t there job but nobody else knows what to do with. We watch hauls and are on social media diets and even though we have the ability to think, hey this isn’t real life, we want the new car with the hands free, the brunch to take a picture of and a house with the marble and rose gold because everybody seems to just live in Etsy.
Perhaps, because of the time we live in, we are so aware and are so overwhelmed, reducing daily feats to making our own lunch or buying sheets. Domestic shit that due to society’s obsession with sharing everything are considered of note. Or maybe we like the fact that ‘adulting’ is associated with the shit of everyday life, the admittance that we all have some crazy imposter syndrome and are just letting everyone know that we are just barely keeping it together.
Clearly, I can’t speak for a whole generation, but sometimes I just wished we’d all grow the fuck up. Leave adulting to people who are living out of home for the very first time and don’t realise that one ant in the kitchen is never just one ant, or that if the petrol tank is telling you it’s empty it means it and no you won’t make it to wherever you think you’re going with no petrol.
As proper adults who take themselves seriously we can make our lunch and eat it too, without sharing it (it either in the staffroom or on social media).