Adulthood is one of the trickiest parts of life to navigate. No matter how much you prepare for it, you often find yourself feeling completely unprepared, as though you have no idea what you’re doing. Strangely, it seems like everyone else around you has it all figured out, leaving you convinced that you’re the only one struggling—or worse, that you’re a colossal screw-up.

Somewhere along the line, you realize that maybe none of us really know what we’re doing; we’re all just figuring it out as we go. And that "figuring it out" part? It never really ends, does it?

Having survived one decade of adulthood (with a few more to go), I find it challenging to pinpoint exactly what adulthood feels like. It’s somehow a uniquely personal journey and yet a universally shared experience. Ironic, isn’t it? We feel so alone as we navigate something that connects us all.

I've given it some thought, trying to build a mental picture of what this journey looks like, especially as we process the years that have passed and prepare for those that lie ahead. I tend to think of adulthood beginning in the early 20s. Of course, some people have to grow up faster, becoming caretakers for their siblings when their own parents couldn’t step up. But on average, if you had a relatively typical childhood and adolescence, you begin to experience adulthood in your early 20s, usually around 22.

Whatever the age, the initiation into adulthood is similar.
As you step into your twenties, imagine being handed a large, blank whiteboard and a dry-erase marker. This board is your life’s canvas, waiting to be filled.
Throughout your twenties, you begin marking this board with everything you collect along the way— memories, experiences, values, personality traits, and mistakes. You also add in all the areas of your life you care about deeply: family, friends, hobbies, career, travel. Don't forget to put in the stuff that gets your dopamine charged - alcohol, smokes, parties, the gym.
The more important an aspect of your life is, the more space it takes up. If you’re close with your family, "FAMILY" might be written in big, bold letters. If you’re a social butterfly, you might have “PARTIES” sprawled across in a vibrant font. By the time you reach your late twenties, the board is nearly full. Every inch of it is packed with pieces of your experiences and everything that has shaped you. It’s chaotic, but beautiful—a rich tapestry of who you’ve become.

Then, as you enter your thirties, you’re handed two more items: a cloth, and a permanent marker.

Moving forward, here are the new rules for your board of adulthood:

1. To Add, You Must Subtract: In order to make room on your board, you’ll have to erase parts that no longer serve you. Maybe you want to quit smoking— wipe it off. Or perhaps certain friendships or family connections no longer support you— you can let those go too. As you clear these areas, you open up space for new things that truly matter to you.
   
2. The Permanent Marker: Your new tool is a permanent marker. In your twenties, you were allowed to make mistakes and erase them easily. But now, your choices carry more weight, and your actions have lasting consequences. When you add something with the permanent marker, it becomes a core part of who you are. And though you can try to erase it, like all things written in permanent ink, it never fully disappears. It may smudge, but traces will always remain. This is why it's crucial to be careful and intentional with what you choose to commit to your board in this stage of life.
   
3. The Dry-Erase Marker: You still have your dry-erase marker, but it's starting to run out. This means that while you can still try new, temporary things, your window for experimenting without lasting impact is gradually closing. Use it wisely. There’s still room to explore, but rely too heavily on it, and eventually, it’ll run dry.
   
   And that, in essence, is adulthood in your thirties. You’re designing your board, shaping who you are, but there’s only so much space. Over time, you’ll learn to prioritize, to decide what deserves a permanent spot and what can be let go. This board is yours alone, a private canvas. In rare moments, you might meet someone special who sees it, admires it. Until then, take time to look at your board, appreciate it, and make sure it reflects the life you truly want to live, the adult you truly want to be.

Epilogue
I haven’t reached my forties yet, but I can imagine what this board might look like. By then, let’s say you’re given colored markers. After years of using black ink to define the essentials, now you can make it vibrant and expressive. Your forties are a time to let your true personality shine, embracing who you are without worrying about appearances. You fill the blank spots with color, each shade representing a different facet of your life, adding depth and beauty. The forties bring a lot of acceptance—provided you’ve done the work to build a strong foundation in the years prior.

In your fifties, I imagine you become comfortable sharing your board with others. It’s no longer something to keep to yourself; it’s a piece of art. It always was, but until now, it was deeply personal. Decades of work have made it shine, and now you’re proud of it—as you should be.
Ideally, we all reach a point where we feel ready to share our board with others sooner. But in the vast spread of life, adulthood takes time. The journey to self-acceptance is long, yet the result— a beautiful, unique piece of art—is worth every step.