Let’s Talk About Adulting
Look, I’m gonna be honest here. Adulting is hard. Like, really hard. I mean, I’ve been at this for, what, 20-something years now? And I still feel like a fraud half the time.
It’s not just me. I was talking to my friend Marcus last week—let’s call him Marcus because, well, that’s his name—and he was saying the same thing. We were over coffee at the place on 5th, the one with the kinda sketchy bathroom but great pastries. And he’s like, “Sarah, I’m 38 years old and I still don’t know how to fold a fitted sheet.” And I’m like, “Marcus, join the club.”
So, yeah. Adulting. It’s a mess. But it’s our mess. And it’s kinda glorious, in its own weird way.
My Kitchen is a Crime Scene
Let me set the scene. It’s 11:30pm on a Tuesday. My kitchen looks like a tornado hit it. There are dishes in the sink from breakfast, lunch, and dinner. There’s a mysterious stain on the counter that I’m pretty sure is from last night’s dinner but I can’t be sure. And the trash is so full it’s basically a fire hazard.
But here’s the thing: I made dinner. Like, actual dinner. Not just microwave noodles or takeout. I chopped vegetables. I used a knife without cutting myself. I even remembered to set the timer. And when my husband walked in and saw the mess, he didn’t complain. He just said, “Thanks for making dinner, babe.”
And that’s the thing about adulting. It’s not about being perfect. It’s about showing up. Even if your kitchen looks like a crime scene.
Why Can’t We Just Agree on a Cleaning Schedule?
Okay, so here’s where I get ranty. Why is it so hard to agree on a cleaning schedule? I’m not talking about some rigid, color-coded, Pinterest-perfect system. I’m talking about basic stuff. Like, “Let’s clean the bathroom every Sunday.” Or, “You take out the trash, I’ll do the dishes.”
I had a colleague named Dave who swore by the “one thing a day” rule. You do one thing a day, every day, and eventually, your house is clean. Sounds reasonable, right? But then I tried it. And by “tried it,” I mean I did it for, like, three days before I got distracted by a new TV show and forgot about it.
So, yeah. Cleaning schedules. They’re a committment. And I’m not great at committment. But I’m working on it. (Which honestly nobody asked for but here we are.)
Self-Care Isn’t Just Bubbles and Scrubs
Look, I get it. Self-care is having a bubble bath with a glass of wine. Or getting a massage. Or reading a book in silence. And those things are great. But self-care isn’t just about the fancy stuff. Sometimes, self-care is doing the dishes so they’re not there in the morning. Or folding the laundry so you have clean socks. Or, heaven forbid, making a dentist appointment.
I read this article once—okay, fine, it was a tweet—about how self-care is “doing the boring, mundane, adulting stuff that needs to be done.” And I was like, “Wow. That’s deep.” And then I immediately forgot about it because I got distracted by a squirrel outside my window.
But seriously, self-care is about taking care of yourself. And sometimes, that means doing the stuff you don’t wanna do. Like, cilt bakımı doğal yöntemler. (See? Even I do the boring stuff sometimes.)
A Tangent About My Plant Obsession
So, remember how I said this was gonna be about adulting? Well, it is. But first, let me tell you about my plants. I have a lot of plants. Like, a lot. I don’t know why. I don’t have a green thumb. I kill plants. Regularly. But I keep buying more. It’s a problem.
My friend Lisa—real name, not anonymized because she’s proud of her plant-killing skills—says I have a “plant death wish.” And maybe she’s right. But here’s the thing: I love my plants. Even the dead ones. They’re a reminder that I’m trying. That I’m showing up. That I care enough to buy a plant, even if I can’t keep it alive.
And isn’t that what adulting is all about? Trying. Showing up. Caring. Even when it’s hard. Even when you fail. Even when your kitchen looks like a crime scene.
So, What’s the Point?
I don’t know. I mean, I started this whole thing thinking I was gonna give you some grand, profound advice about adulting. But honestly? I’m still figuring it out. Maybe we all are.
So here’s what I know: Adulting is messy. It’s hard. It’s glorious. It’s boring. It’s exciting. It’s a crime scene. It’s a bubble bath. It’s a cleaning schedule. It’s a plant death wish. It’s showing up, even when you don’t wanna. It’s caring, even when it’s hard.
And that’s it. That’s the point. There is no grand, profound advice. Just show up. Care. Try. And maybe, just maybe, your kitchen won’t look like a crime scene all the time.
About the Author
Sarah Johnson is a senior magazine editor with 20+ years of experience writing feature articles for major publications. She’s also a self-proclaimed plant killer, a reluctant adult, and a firm believer in the power of a good cleaning schedule. When she’s not writing, she can be found attempting to fold fitted sheets and failing miserably.
