Choose Your Weapon!
Adulthood is basically a survival game.
Some people collect Pokémon; I collect coping mechanisms.
You know, those things we politely call “hobbies” but deep down they’re just the weapons we wield against the slow drip of bills, expectations, and the general nonsense of modern life.
For me? It’s writing. (Obviously. If it wasn’t, why would I be oversharing on the internet?)
The other day, in a café (because where else do I have my life realizations?), I was “working on my CV,” which in reality means opening Word, sighing dramatically, and staring out the window like a misunderstood 27‑year‑old poet.
Then came the floor show: a full-on live theater performance of adulthood in three acts.
Act One: A mother with two kids having the absolute time of their lives, which in kid language means screaming-laughing at a frequency that could summon spirits. She had that look—you know, the tight polite smile that says “I am five seconds away from faking my own disappearance.”
Act Two: Across from them, a man on a Teams meeting, the human embodiment of Excel. Every giggle from the kids was like a dagger through his KPI-filled soul. His eyes rolled so hard at one point, I thought he was going to ascend.
Act Three: I, sitting away from them, doing literally nothing with my own life except formatting a CV I will send into the void, while also silently judging everyone else for their chaos.
And then, instead of focusing on my CV, I started wondering: what are their weapons?
When that mother finally gets home, does she pour a giant glass of wine, lock herself in the bathroom, and read a book in the tub?
Does the annoyed Teams guy secretly go to a Monday-night boxing class to punch out the rage of a hundred spreadsheets?
Or maybe it’s the other way around. Maybe she’s out there jabbing and uppercutting while he’s soaking in lavender bath salts, whispering affirmations to his rubber duck.
And here’s the kicker: just watching their stress was stressing me out. By the time I finished my overpriced cappuccino, I’d mentally added “massage” to my own arsenal. My current weapons: writing, cooking, painting, gaming… and now, apparently, lying on a table while someone tries to untangle the knots in my shoulders that I got from watching strangers live their lives.
I was texting with a cousin of mine a few days ago who’s almost 40. He’s sporty, artsy, the type of person who casually climbs a mountain before breakfast. And then he says, “Yeah, sometimes I just need to switch off, so I go running or I draw.”
Cue the dramatic pause.
Because in my head I went: Oh. Even at 40, you still need to log out of life sometimes? It’s not just me?
There was something so deeply comforting about that: this guy has a decade of adulthood on me and a phd, and he also hides from the world sometimes. It made me realize maybe the goal of adulthood isn’t “having it all together” but just finding something to do that makes it suck a little less.
And then, of course, society pops up in the group chat like:
“Hey babe, just checking in – are you fit, productive, fluent in three languages, emotionally stable, and managing your investments while doing Pilates?”
To which I reply: “I watched a budgeting show and made a sandwich, does that count?”
Speaking of budgeting shows, my new personality trait is binge-watching Financial Audits on YouTube. Highly recommend. Nothing makes you feel better about your questionable life choices than watching strangers reveal they owe 80k on luxury scented candles. It’s like: Sure, I’m unemployed and confused, but at least I’m not in debt because of my obsession with artisanal soaps.
Although I will admit, watching those shows does make me aggressively check my bank account like: Yes, queen, still broke but responsibly broke.
Lately, I’ve added a few more “weapons” to my collection:
Cooking – because when my life is falling apart, at least my risotto isn’t.
Painting – where I aggressively slap color on a canvas like I’m trying to exorcise my insanity.
Gaming – nothing says “self-care” like ignoring reality to go build a fake farm where my biggest problem is whether to plant virtual potatoes or wheat.
And, because I apparently like pain, I signed up for an online French and Spanish course.
Am I fluent? No.
Can I now panic-order a croissant in Paris and accidentally ask for a bus in Madrid? Absolutely.
The thing is, every adult I talk to (friends, cousins, random people in cafés) has their own weapon. Some people run, some people bake, some people disappear into Netflix crime documentaries for eight hours straight. The weapon doesn’t matter. What matters is that it permits you to drop the performance of having everything together.
So yes, adulthood is a battle. And no, I don’t have a strategy.
But at least I’ve got an arsenal:
Words,
A frying pan,
A couple of paintbrushes.
Is it perfect? No.
Does it keep me semi-sane? Questionable.
Does it beat showing up 24/7 like some hyper-efficient robot? 100%.
And honestly, at this point in life, I’ll take the win.