I Always Wanted to Grow Up. Then Life Got in the Way.
This year I’m turning 42 — an age at which you’re supposedly meant to have arrived. The searching done, the doubting over, the inner compass calibrated. I should have found my place in society, settled into adult routines, and developed a firm sense of what I believe in. I should know who I am and what I want. I should have put down roots, cared about culture, engaged in political discourse, and slept through the night.
Well, I do at least have a steady, decent job — but also a lot of doubt, occasional episodes of depression, unresolved attachment issues, fear of loss, and far too many streaming subscriptions I won’t cancel because of what I might miss out.
My mother, at my age, had already raised two children into their teenage years, survived a divorce, and built a house. I can’t even get through a grocery run without forgetting the most important things. And her constant, casual remarks on what I’m Not managing or deciding well gives me the feeling that I’m not quite there yet — that I still need watching over, that my decisions can’t fully be trusted. It’s hard to feel like a functioning adult when the people who know you best don’t quite believe it either.
This is Adult in Progress — notes from someone still figuring out what adulthood even is. Not a self-help guide, not a manual, not a collection of hard-won wisdom. More an honest report from someone in his forties, still exploring, and slowly making peace with the idea that this might simply be how it goes.
Our Parents’ Checklist
We all know it: parents who recount, with a mix of pride and barely concealed superiority, everything they had already sorted out by thirty or forty. A home. Kids. Stability. As if life were a project you just had to plan properly — and anyone who didn’t manage it simply didn’t try hard enough. The message, sometimes spoken, mostly implied: You’re too soft. Too demanding. Too wrapped up in yourselves.
As if they found the world exactly as it is — and didn’t live in a time when you could still afford an apartment in a major city. When a job lasted a lifetime.
When getting married and having children wasn’t something you weighed up for years, but was simply what you did. Because everyone did it. The checklist was clear: education, work, partnership, children, property.
Tick all the boxes and you were an adult. If not — you’d done something wrong. And fun? That had to be earned. After the checklist. After the work was done. Looking at my parents today, I still wonder when the fun is finally going to show up.
Why the Model No Longer Exists
The model didn’t fail because our generation got too soft — even if that’s the favourite theory of those who worked through the checklist themselves. It failed because the world it was built for simply no longer exists. Housing in cities like Berlin is no longer a question of wanting for many people. Lifelong employment is the exception. And children? A decision you weigh against your bank balance, your relationship status, and your progress in therapy.
What’s left is the feeling of being behind. That nagging sense of falling short — without it being clear anymore where the journey is even headed. And the question you ask yourself at night, when you should really be sleeping: What am I doing wrong? And how do I catch up?
I live in Berlin — a city that hasn’t finished becoming itself in decades, and somehow functions anyway. It’s the bypass road of growing up. Eternal adolescence is part of the culture here.
Without Doubt, Without Benchmarks
Will I ever stop asking myself whether I’m on the right path? Is there even a right path anymore? At 42, I should — what exactly? Have an accountant? Own property? Have stopped asking myself who I actually am – and why life feels like a constant fail? These questions sound rhetorical, but they aren‘t. Because somewhere deep down there’s still a voice saying: You should have known this by now. You should have arrived by now. Act like an adult — you’re too old to still be doubting yourself.
And maybe that voice isn’t entirely wrong. Nobody is going to write the script for me. Nobody is going to tell me when I’ve arrived. That’s uncomfortable — but it’s also the only honest answer. I’m the one who decides what adulthood means for me. I’ve just spent a long time suppressing that, hoping it would somehow sort itself out.
That might be the central idea of this series. Not how one becomes an adult — but what that even means anymore, when our parents are no longer our role models, when the old benchmarks are gone and I’ve stopped waiting for new ones.
The Secret Perks of Adulthood
Of course, adulthood isn’t all dread and paperwork. There are perks — small, ridiculous ones, but real. Like eating sweets before dinner simply because no one can stop you. Buying the expensive chocolate. Staying up too late on a Tuesday. The tiny rebellions that would have felt illicit at twelve and now feel like the only tangible proof that you’re in charge of your own life. Sometimes the joy of being an adult is nothing more than an entire bag of Haribo at 3 a.m. — and honestly, that’s not nothing.
Why I’m Writing This
I don’t know where this series will take me. I don’t know whether I’ll have more clarity at the end than I do now — or just more precise questions. Either would be honest. Either would be a great result after severaly years being in therapy for several years. What I do know: staying silent hasn’t moved me forward. Neither has just functioning. So I write. Not as someone who has figured it out — but as someone who is slowly dropping the pretence.
In the end, it’s not about finding the right answer — but about finding your own. And accepting that it might look different from everyone else’s. Growing up without a manual — because those who had one didn’t get much further either. If you have your own experiences, thoughts, or questions and want to share them — send them my way.
And: This newsletter arrives on Mondays — the one day of the week that demands you have it together, whether you do or not. You probably don’t. Neither do I. Consider this your company for the ride.