8 Things I Thought Adulthood Would Be (And What It Actually Is)

Turns out, growing up is mostly about letting go of the plan.

My daughter likes to ask questions that make me nostalgic—and occasionally spiral into an existential tailspin. The latest was:
“What did you imagine your life would be like at your age when you were my age?”

Bless her sweet, sharing heart. She’s trying to build a bridge between our experiences, and I love her for it. But that’s not a question you lob at a creative, emotionally exhausted 48-year-old woman in the midst of a personal reckoning—not unless you want a monologue that starts with childhood dreams and ends somewhere between grief and a Costco rotisserie chicken.

All I could muster in the moment was:
“I didn’t realize there would be so much laundry.”

When I was younger, I thought adulthood would feel like… more. More certain. More polished. More together.

I figured I’d hit a magical age—maybe 30?—and suddenly know how to cook a decent dinner without Googling internal chicken temps, handle conflict without replaying it for three days, and keep plants alive.

Spoiler alert: none of that happened.

Instead, I find myself lying awake at night wondering if I’m raising a kind human, if I’ve said the right things to the people I love, and whether I’m doing anything that leaves the world a little better—or if I’m just really good at overthinking and buying birthday cards and never sending them.

Adulthood is not what I expected—and honestly, it’s weirder, louder, messier, and somehow also more beautiful than I imagined.

So here’s my list: eight things I thought adulthood would be… and what it actually is, at least from where I’m standing—somewhere between the laundry pile and the existential dread.

1. I thought I’d know exactly what to do in any given situation

Adults seemed so certain. They moved through life with confidence and aplomb, and I figured that’s just what being an adult was—you knew stuff.

My mom could cook the perfect Thanksgiving dinner, get blood stains out of laundry, and write the perfect thank-you note. My dad could fix just about anything, post up in basketball, and deliver a killer speech.
They just… seemed to have it all together, all the time.

The only time I remember them scrambling was on a trip to Dallas when we were running late for the airport. We were lost, the map was no help, and no one knew where we were—let alone how to get to the airport. (We were saved by a good Samaritan in a gold Mercedes who told us to follow him and then drove 90 mph across the Texas plains like a caffeinated angel.)

I can’t think of another time they looked flummoxed by life or five kids or anything else.
I don’t ever remember either of them saying, “I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m just winging it.”

Reality: I am almost always winging it.
I still Google how to boil eggs every Easter.
I’ve drafted six apology texts in my Notes app before deciding to just overthink it silently instead.
I can’t remember if you change the oil at 3,000 or 5,000 miles. I definitely don’t know how to change a starter.

Did adults back then just fake it better?
Am I actually this inept?
Or are we just more open about our doubt now?
I don’t know. But I’m guessing my way through about 70% of life.

2. I thought my career path would be linear and directional

The plan was simple: Go to college. Get a job in ag PR. Climb the ladder until I was running the place. Retire early and ride horses every day.

Reality: I’ve pivoted, paused, reinvented, and spiraled—sometimes all in the same week.
I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up, and I’m 48. Turns out, purpose isn’t a ladder. It’s a squiggly line with coffee stains and detours.

Why do we expect 18-year-olds or 22-year-olds to nail it on the first try?

A linear path might have been easier. But I’d have missed so many people, experiences, and all the weird, wonderful detours that ended up shaping who I am.

3. I thought I’d live somewhere else—because everywhere was cooler than home

It’s not that I hated my hometown. It’s just that I was sure everywhere else was cooler. More glamorous. More exciting. More… not Wyoming.

Reality: Wyoming has always been amazing.

The sunsets here are unreal. The scenery takes my breath away. And the people? Best on the planet—even if the gas station counts as the “fancy restaurant” when they’ve got fresh brisket sandwiches.

Turns out, “cool” isn’t a place or even an adjective—it’s a perspective. And Wyoming is exactly where I’m supposed to be.

4. I thought I’d always be friends with my friends

“Friends forever” was practically gospel in middle school yearbooks. I truly believed it.

Reality: Friendships are seasonal.
They ebb and flow with our lives—college, careers, moving, parenting, aging, changing.

Some friendships fade. Some evolve. And others come out of nowhere and feel like home.
Learning to see the beauty in short-term or shifting friendships—without guilt or sadness—is a gift you give yourself.

5. I thought my kids would be just like me

I pictured a daughter who loved horses, wanted to play soccer professionally, and would follow in my footsteps like a well-behaved shadow.

Reality: My kid is exactly who she’s meant to be—loud, chaotic, fiercely independent, and gloriously unpredictable.
She is the kind, silly, exuberant yin to my introverted, uptight yang.
She challenges me constantly. And I wouldn’t want her any other way.

6. I thought I’d never have to say I’m sorry

Growing up, I didn’t see adults apologize all that often. Sure, there was the polite Midwestern “Ope, didn’t mean to bump ya,” but rarely anything deeper.

I loved my dad deeply, but if he hurt my feelings and I said something, I usually got, “It builds character,” or “Toughen up.”
It wasn’t cruelty—it was just the way things were. You carried on.

Reality: Adulthood has taught me that real apologies aren’t a sign of weakness—they’re a sign of growth.
I’ve had to say I’m sorry more times than I can count—for snapping when I’m tired, for missing the mark, for not showing up the way I meant to.

It’s not easy. It never feels great in the moment. But recognizing when we’ve hurt someone, owning it, and making it right?
That might be the most adult thing I’ve ever learned to do.

7. I thought my family would always be together for the holidays

I imagined we’d always pack the house, fill the table, share the same traditions. The same people, year after year.

Reality: Life changed.
Some people are gone. Some drifted. The table looks different now.

And while it still holds love, it also holds the ache of what used to be—and the quiet beauty of what remains.

Final Thought

Adulthood isn’t the polished, put-together thing I imagined.
It’s duct-taped together with coffee, questionable decisions, and a whole lot of improvising.
But there’s something kind of magical in the mess.

I may not have it all figured out, but I’m still here.
Still showing up.
Still folding the laundry.
And still believing that somehow, this is exactly where I’m meant to be.

If you’ve made it this far…

Adulthood might not look how we imagined, but maybe that’s the point.
If you’re figuring it out as you go, too—welcome. You’ve got good company here. ❤️