The Things People Don’t Tell You About Adulthood
By Jamie Varon
I remember when I used to abhor routine, when waking up before 9am was a form of torture I only subjected myself to for early flights or hungover stumbles to the kitchen for water. When I dreamt of getting older — and, of course, I did dream of it — I thought of the perceived freedom of adulthood, this idea that I could and should and would do anything and everything I pleased. There was a magical feeling to the daydream of adulthood and with it endless possibilities of who I’d end up being and what I’d end up doing and the kind of life I’d find myself enjoying.
During my early to mid twenties, I traveled and worked as a web designer, fully taking advantage of the unbelievable freedom of being able to make money while needing nothing other than a laptop and an internet connection. After a year in Paris and nine different apartments rented via Airbnb, all I dreamt of was a home, a car, a life I’d call my own. I romanticized this grown up version of myself, leaving behind a gypsy lifestyle in favor of roots, those pesky little roots I spent so much time avoiding were the very things that kept beckoning to me.
I wanted nothing of roots for the better part of my twenties and then, boom, those spindly things that anchored me to the ground were all I thought of. I wanted a home, a real place where the…
