Loans and EMIs and Big Decisions and Big Responsibilities and Planning in Advance. That’s what I thought being an adult involved. And it turns out it’s exactly what I had anticipated.
I feel like an awful lot has changed from my 20s to my 30s. It seems to me that I’ve spent the first three decades of my life having the good fortune to be wild, carefree and impulsive. Had my head in the clouds, but feet on the ground, was a little lost but incredibly driven, hopelessly romantic but reluctantly practical. Somewhere along the way, the scales tilted and I find myself a less wild, less carefree and less impulsive person.
One of the first thing I noticed as an adult was a startlingly conspicuous drop in the number of calls from friends (and the calls I made to them). Suddenly there were Bigger Priorities. To-do lists got longer and longer, not just my own I suspect, those of others too. Social media, if it’s anything to be trusted, confirmed that some friends were alive and kicking. Those who dropped off social media were in touch once a few months or a few years, mostly for major announcements. Nobody talked about anything serious they were going through. Only good news was broadcast.
While I struggled with settling in another country, I was amazed to see friends shining in a nomadic existence — passport stamp, stamp, stamp. It was only when I spoke to a dear friend who shared my new-country loneliness did I realize something. We are so careful about what we share as adults. Our troubles and frustrations are to be battled with as lone warriors, when everything is quiet in the dead of night. We are fiercely proud, with only our pillows as witnesses to our tears.
One of the reasons we hesitate to share and swap stories frequently as adults is perhaps because we never know what’s going on in the other person’s life. We tread carefully. Things are great, I declare. All good here too, the friend says. I hesitatingly say that things have actually been less than great. She is concerned. I go first. She then admits that she’s been through a rough patch too. She goes next. It’s like we need to confirm that we’re in the same boat, and that’s the signal for us to go ahead and share. If one of us didn’t make the first move, it would have been any other grown-up conversation — bullet-pointed life updates and a quick exchange of pleasantries.
In a way, it’s because we are simply more considerate I think. You don’t want to make a new house announcement to someone who just lost their job, you don’t want to talk about your divorce to that happily married friend. I’m always a little nervous before catching up with someone after a long time, like they’re going to tell me about what a horrible year they’ve had, but they’re all better now, and I’d feel like a terrible, helpless and absent friend.
Being an adult means being more private, more independent. Being an adult means we don’t really want to get into details. Everything’s okay, we say. All good. Nobody needs to know the nitty-gritties, we have no time and even less patience. The standard response to ‘What’s up?’ becomes a casual, offhand “Nothing much”, which could mean anything from nothing much to massive life-changing events.
The other thing I’ve noticed is that everything needs to be Planned. Ugh! There’s less scope for taking off as you please. In January, think about where you’re going in summer. In summer, book your tickets for the Christmas break. If you’re not going anywhere at all, think about what life goals you’re going to achieve. Make a list. Plan your retirement. Plan your savings. Plan when you’re going to quit your job and run off to the mountains like everyone else supposedly is. Plan the concert you want to attend. Plan your studies. Plan B. Plan that house you’re going to buy. Plan for the future. Plan for just in case. Plan for yourself. Plan for those dependent on you. Plan the next career move. Plan what’s for dinner. Plan your three-day weekends.
We plan because we want to Be Prepared. We want to be ready for the what-ifs, ready for bad news, ready for change, ready with our resources. Forget about being ready when the sky falls or when the aliens come or when the world ends, we’ve got to plan for the next hour. Some of us try the no-planning plan, which only lasts until you burn out of the weekday-work-weekend-Netflix routine. Then you get up one day with renewed resolve and say, Ah Yes! Today I’m Going To Plan.
Lastly, the most disturbing discovery of my thirties: so much of the romance is dead. Maybe this is also because I moved out of a dramatic tropical country to a stiff-upper-lip, colder country. But yes, I think we become decidedly unromantic as adults. We are far less accepting of the outrageous. We frown upon people who seem flippant and frivolous. We are proper, we mind how we behave, we try to say the right things. We look out of windows saying, oh look, it’s raining, but we don’t let loose and dance in the street with abandon.
The scary part is that it gets astonishingly easy to be an adult and do adult-like things. Mostly because everyone else does. And the easier it gets, the more comfortable we get. The more comfortable we get — -oh we know it already: it’s all gloom and doom from this point onwards.
I hate to admit that in my thirties, I seem to have become a new avatar altogether. I revisit my older crazy self in only bouts of Sunday nostalgia, when I bellow the lyrics to an old song while in the shower. I drop my guard less frequently, I care about what others think. I’m more integrated into society. I’m painfully conscious about what I let show. I sweep all the stuff that matters under the sofa and say “all good” and “nothing much”. I only look at my phone in the mornings, not at 3 am, when I want to have a long meaningful conversation with whoever’s awake.
I reflect on everything I’ve written and it seems like this transition into adulthood is for the better. I’m more in control, more considerate, more cautious, more independent. I plan better, I try to say just enough. I mind my own business, I help when I can, I drink lots of water. I stop thinking the world revolves around me, I stop trying to change the world. I’m wiser, more confident, better prepared.
But in spite of all of this, I feel like I’m less than half the person I used to be.
I feel like an awful lot has changed from my 20s to my 30s. It seems to me that I’ve spent the first three decades of my life having the good fortune to be wild, carefree and impulsive. Had my head in the clouds, but feet on the ground, was a little lost but incredibly driven, hopelessly romantic but reluctantly practical. Somewhere along the way, the scales tilted and I find myself a less wild, less carefree and less impulsive person.
One of the first thing I noticed as an adult was a startlingly conspicuous drop in the number of calls from friends (and the calls I made to them). Suddenly there were Bigger Priorities. To-do lists got longer and longer, not just my own I suspect, those of others too. Social media, if it’s anything to be trusted, confirmed that some friends were alive and kicking. Those who dropped off social media were in touch once a few months or a few years, mostly for major announcements. Nobody talked about anything serious they were going through. Only good news was broadcast.
While I struggled with settling in another country, I was amazed to see friends shining in a nomadic existence — passport stamp, stamp, stamp. It was only when I spoke to a dear friend who shared my new-country loneliness did I realize something. We are so careful about what we share as adults. Our troubles and frustrations are to be battled with as lone warriors, when everything is quiet in the dead of night. We are fiercely proud, with only our pillows as witnesses to our tears.
One of the reasons we hesitate to share and swap stories frequently as adults is perhaps because we never know what’s going on in the other person’s life. We tread carefully. Things are great, I declare. All good here too, the friend says. I hesitatingly say that things have actually been less than great. She is concerned. I go first. She then admits that she’s been through a rough patch too. She goes next. It’s like we need to confirm that we’re in the same boat, and that’s the signal for us to go ahead and share. If one of us didn’t make the first move, it would have been any other grown-up conversation — bullet-pointed life updates and a quick exchange of pleasantries.
In a way, it’s because we are simply more considerate I think. You don’t want to make a new house announcement to someone who just lost their job, you don’t want to talk about your divorce to that happily married friend. I’m always a little nervous before catching up with someone after a long time, like they’re going to tell me about what a horrible year they’ve had, but they’re all better now, and I’d feel like a terrible, helpless and absent friend.
Being an adult means being more private, more independent. Being an adult means we don’t really want to get into details. Everything’s okay, we say. All good. Nobody needs to know the nitty-gritties, we have no time and even less patience. The standard response to ‘What’s up?’ becomes a casual, offhand “Nothing much”, which could mean anything from nothing much to massive life-changing events.
The other thing I’ve noticed is that everything needs to be Planned. Ugh! There’s less scope for taking off as you please. In January, think about where you’re going in summer. In summer, book your tickets for the Christmas break. If you’re not going anywhere at all, think about what life goals you’re going to achieve. Make a list. Plan your retirement. Plan your savings. Plan when you’re going to quit your job and run off to the mountains like everyone else supposedly is. Plan the concert you want to attend. Plan your studies. Plan B. Plan that house you’re going to buy. Plan for the future. Plan for just in case. Plan for yourself. Plan for those dependent on you. Plan the next career move. Plan what’s for dinner. Plan your three-day weekends.
We plan because we want to Be Prepared. We want to be ready for the what-ifs, ready for bad news, ready for change, ready with our resources. Forget about being ready when the sky falls or when the aliens come or when the world ends, we’ve got to plan for the next hour. Some of us try the no-planning plan, which only lasts until you burn out of the weekday-work-weekend-Netflix routine. Then you get up one day with renewed resolve and say, Ah Yes! Today I’m Going To Plan.
Lastly, the most disturbing discovery of my thirties: so much of the romance is dead. Maybe this is also because I moved out of a dramatic tropical country to a stiff-upper-lip, colder country. But yes, I think we become decidedly unromantic as adults. We are far less accepting of the outrageous. We frown upon people who seem flippant and frivolous. We are proper, we mind how we behave, we try to say the right things. We look out of windows saying, oh look, it’s raining, but we don’t let loose and dance in the street with abandon.
The scary part is that it gets astonishingly easy to be an adult and do adult-like things. Mostly because everyone else does. And the easier it gets, the more comfortable we get. The more comfortable we get — -oh we know it already: it’s all gloom and doom from this point onwards.
I hate to admit that in my thirties, I seem to have become a new avatar altogether. I revisit my older crazy self in only bouts of Sunday nostalgia, when I bellow the lyrics to an old song while in the shower. I drop my guard less frequently, I care about what others think. I’m more integrated into society. I’m painfully conscious about what I let show. I sweep all the stuff that matters under the sofa and say “all good” and “nothing much”. I only look at my phone in the mornings, not at 3 am, when I want to have a long meaningful conversation with whoever’s awake.
I reflect on everything I’ve written and it seems like this transition into adulthood is for the better. I’m more in control, more considerate, more cautious, more independent. I plan better, I try to say just enough. I mind my own business, I help when I can, I drink lots of water. I stop thinking the world revolves around me, I stop trying to change the world. I’m wiser, more confident, better prepared.
But in spite of all of this, I feel like I’m less than half the person I used to be.
