So, the secrets to adulthood. Let’s talk. First point: there are none. There we go, column done. You don’t need me.
In all seriousness though, growing up and pretending to be part of the real world can be terrifying. Why are you telling me to follow my dreams, as long as they provide a secure job? What am I doing with my life? What do grown-ups even wear? Why do I have to make phone calls? Do I have to turn into a yo-pro? Honestly though, most of us are just making it up as we go along, looking more composed than we actually feel. You don’t have to be perfectly put together at all times though. It’s okay to sometimes have a gin while you listen to your favourite album in the dark. It’s okay to cry on the phone to a ‘real adult’ when you’re confused and scared.
There’s so much pressure to be perfect, when perfect doesn’t even exist (OOOH CLICHÉ ALERT!). I’ve had countless conversations with my Mum about how neither of us know what we’re doing with our lives. Sometimes I lay on our lounge floor and groan for no apparent reason, sometimes I stress about possible events that are two years away. To quote Tina Belcher, “I’m no hero.” It’s okay to watch TV shows about confused twenty-somethings tryna figure out life and realise with a panic that you’re one of them.
Here’s my issue though: adulthood is pretending to adult-ier adults that you’ve got your shit together. Repeating the same lines about your degree to anyone who asks. I want to stop pretending and just tell people that I’ve got no fucking clue what I want to do with my life. People keep asking my about my dream job and it has got to stop. Do dream jobs even exist under capitalism? I highly doubt it. Either way, I would like to stop agreeing with people when they hear me say I study politics and they come up with the oh-so-clever joke that I’m going to be the next Helen Clark or Julia Gillard (depending on which country I’m in). At this stage I can’t imagine anything worse than the stress of being PM. And that’s okay, there’s no rush for me to figure things out. So for the love of all that is sacred, stop asking me what my dream job is. Please.
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