"Adult Realizations"
So I turned 30 last year, and nobody warns you that adulthood is just Googling stuff until you die. That's it. That's the whole thing.
Last week I Googled "is it normal for your knee to just... start making that noise." Not because I injured it. I sat down. I sat down and my knee sounded like someone stepping on bubble wrap in a library. My body is just adding sound effects now. Uninvited.
And you know what the worst part of being an adult is? You have a favorite burner on the stove. Don't lie to me. You know which one heats right. The back left one is DEAD to you. You haven't used that burner since 2019. It's decorative at this point.
I also love how everyone pretends they have a system for Tupperware. You don't have a system. You have a cabinet that you open very carefully, like you're defusing a bomb. One wrong move and an avalanche of mismatched lids buries your cat.
My parents, though — my parents have entered the phase of life where every phone call is a medical update I didn't request. My mom calls me like she's filing a report. "Just wanted to let you know, your father's cholesterol is down, but his doctor is concerned about his sodium, and Linda from church? Hip replacement. Both sides."
I'm like, Mom, I called to ask if you have my birth certificate.
"Oh, I'll have to look. Anyway, Linda's walking again."
LINDA IS NOT MY CONCERN RIGHT NOW, MOM.
And my dad — my dad has discovered texting, which is a nightmare for everyone involved. He texts like every message is a telegram from 1943. Full stops after every word. "Going. To. Store. Need. Anything." I feel like I'm being interrogated.
He also signs his texts. "Love, Dad." I know it's you, Dad. It says your name at the top. We've been over this. He does NOT care.
But honestly, the thing that broke me recently? I got excited about a sponge. I'm not kidding. I bought a new sponge, and I was like, "Oh, this is a GOOD sponge." I showed it to my wife. She was also impressed. We had a moment over a sponge.
And I realized — that's it. That's the barometer now. That's where the bar is for excitement. I peaked at 22 doing karaoke on a rooftop in Austin, and now I'm standing in my kitchen holding a sponge like I just pulled Excalibur from the stone.
The worst part? I'm not even sad about it. The sponge is great. It's got the scrubby side AND it dries fast? Are you kidding me?
I think that's how they get you. Adulthood isn't some dramatic shift. Nobody sits you down and says, "It's time." You just wake up one day and realize you went to bed at 8:30 on purpose — not because you were tired, but because you were excited to go to bed. Sleep isn't rest anymore. It's a hobby.
And you know you're fully gone when you start saying things your parents said, and you don't even flinch. I told a teenager the other day, "You'll understand when you're older." It just came out of me. Like a sneeze. I heard it leave my mouth and I thought, well... that's it. The transformation is complete.
Anyway, I gotta get home. I left a load of laundry in the dryer and honestly I've been thinking about it this whole time.
You've been a wonderful audience. Good night!
