So... Am I Doing Adulthood Right or Just Faking It Really Well?

A field report from the quiet chaos of calendars, choices, and 13 hours of weekly life admin

I remember being in my late teens, right before I moved to college, and thinking: I cannot wait to be an adult. Adults seemed to have it all figured out. They had money. They had apartments. They made decisions and no one asked them why. They didn’t have to explain their choices in life to anyone. The dream.

I wanted that. I wanted to spend my own money the way I liked, have a place of my own with no rules, and host the kind of wild, ruleless nights I thought defined adulthood. Irony? I now live in a home of my own and don’t drink anymore. I'm sober. I own fancy scissors and diffuser oils. I chase plush towels like a personality trait. What a life. (I absolutely love it, its just different than what I imagined)

In my very late 20s now, I dread decision-making. The same girl who once longed for absolute independence is now completely overwhelmed by the dinner question. It’s often the last choice I make in the day, and it feels disproportionately heavy. There’s something about that final act, “what will we eat,” that signals the mechanical shutdown of the day. Maybe that’s what makes it feel so symbolic.

Somewhere between moving in with Anjan and marrying him, the performance began. Living in your own home is cute until you realize you are the one who has to pick up the wet towel from the bed. If you don’t, it stays there. Taunting you.

Adulting, it turns out, involves an alarming amount of maintenance. A 2022 study found that adults spend an average of 13+ hours per week on “life admin” things like scheduling appointments, managing finances, and keeping up with home maintenance. [Source: OnePoll survey on behalf of Ladder Life Insurance]

But then there are the good surprises. Like tattoos. For our fifth anniversary - wood, we got matching sakura branches inked across our arms. No one stopped us. People found it cute. Compare that to seven years ago, when a tiny tattoo triggered an intervention in my parents’ hall so dramatic, I genuinely thought the ceiling might collapse. Adulthood, if nothing else, has given me the joy of doing things because I want to, no ceiling threats required.

Still, the freedom can be a bit much. I’m shifting careers from the nonprofit world into something new, “maybe HR”, “maybe marketing,” and no one can make that decision for me. Everyone is supportive, but ultimately, the call is mine. And that...sucks.

Sometimes, I find myself wondering: Is this what I want or just what I’ve been told I should want?
It pops up when I choose a special pair of scissors for my flowers or add another diffuser scent to my collection or scroll endlessly for the right throw blanket. These moments, small, quiet, deeply personal, start to pile up and feel like a different kind of pressure: Look like you’ve got it together. Even if you don’t.

I’ve come to suspect that performing adulthood might just be part of adulthood. That maybe there’s no off-script version - just people improvising with straight faces.
But underneath the polished parts, maybe there’s room for something gentler.

Like inbox zero, not as a flex, but as a full stop for the brain.
Like hobbies that exist for joy, not progress.
Like the rest that doesn’t need to be earned.
Like a Tuesday night where nothing big happens, and that’s somehow perfect.

Maybe I’m not faking it. Maybe this is it.
The version with takeout dinners, half-finished books, big decisions made slowly, and a life that looks a little less like a highlight reel, but feels a lot more like mine.

Maybe this is where we let performative adulthood take a backseat.

Next Friday, we ask a new question: Why Is This a Thing?
About the mistakes we move on from, and the moments we can’t get back, because we never really took them.

With less certainty, but more ease,
Niharika Anjan