Eight Years of Kidulthood

I have been an adult for almost eight years, assuming adulthood starts at 19. I still have no clue what I am doing. That is ok.

I need to be honest with you, dear reader. Those television shows about quarter-life crises are right.

We do not suddenly wake up at 25, 30 or any age in between, and suddenly have everything together. The thought of being 26 is completely mind-boggling. It sounds ancient. Yet it is fast approaching.

I am still studying at 26. Why is that even a problem? My first degree is done. My second degree involves a balance of commercial work and community. What could be better?

My career is still taking off. I'm halfway there. The skills are sorted. I love making advertisements. Now it's time to become the next Steve Jobs or Elizabeth Gilbert. Do I have to choose between the two?

Relationships are more entangled than a Where's Wally or jigsaw puzzle. That is also alright. I might date when I have a spare minuted in my calendar - in 5 years.

I am lucky enough to have just inherited a step-mother at 25. Imagine reaching mid-life, and suddenly happily parenting a bunch of kidults in their twenties? Love you, step-mummy.

It's only a year since my grandparents told me to live my life more independently, away from under their noses. Everything changes after a bit of independence. I've got to thank them one day.

Domestic responsibilities are still more of an ideal than reality. My entire cleaning repertoire entails just a bottle of vinegar. The only thing I cook is pasta, unless you include chopped salad and frozen pizzas.

Perhaps it is time for me to wear an apron behind a white picket fence, roasting lamb for Sunday dinner. Sorry - been there, done that. Now I want more.

Cheers to chasing corporate career dreams, studying new ideas, sipping martinis with mates, and eating convenience dinners. Because it's a matter of freedom.

Who are we kidding? I love being twenty five!


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