I'd Like to Speak to Whoever Is in Charge of Adulthood

Because I Have Several Complaints, and Apparently, I'm the Management.

Saturday, October 3, 2026 | The Free-Range Advocate

I am 52 years old.

By all reasonable standards, I should have this adulthood thing figured out by now.

I do not.

In fact, the older I get, the more convinced I become that adulthood is an elaborate practical joke played on unsuspecting children.

Remember when we couldn't wait to grow up?

We wanted freedom. Independence. The ability to stay up late, eat whatever we wanted, and make our own decisions.

Well, congratulations.

Now we can eat ice cream for breakfast, but our bodies have opinions about it.

We can stay up as late as we want, but we're exhausted by 9 p.m.

And we get to make all our own decisions.

Including the spectacularly exciting decision of which household appliance we can afford to replace this month. (spoiler alert: none of them, duct tape and a prayer to just keep going)

I would like to request a refund.

First, Who Put Me in Charge?

Somewhere along the way, I became the responsible adult.

This concerns me.

I distinctly remember being younger and believing that adults knew what they were doing.

They had answers. They made decisions. They understood complicated things like insurance, mortgages, taxes, and why the refrigerator occasionally makes that noise.

Now I'm the adult.

And I've discovered that half of adulthood consists of Googling things, hoping for the best, and pretending you understand what the insurance representative just told you.

I have an IT background. I know how to troubleshoot complicated technical problems.

Unfortunately, life doesn't come with a diagnostic utility.

Have you tried turning adulthood off and back on again?

Because I would very much like to try that.

Second, I Was Promised Freedom

As a child, I imagined adulthood would be magnificent.

I'd have my own money. My own house. My own rules.

Nobody could tell me when to go to bed.

Nobody could make me eat vegetables.

Nobody could stop me from buying whatever I wanted.

Technically, all of that is true.

What nobody mentioned was that I'd also be responsible for paying the electric bill, cleaning the house, maintaining the car, and deciding what to cook for dinner.

Every. Single. Day.

Seriously, why do people need to eat so frequently?

We had dinner yesterday.

At some point, somebody should have invented a subscription service that delivers a clean house, completed laundry, and a fully prepared dinner without requiring my participation.

I'd sign up immediately.

Assuming I could afford it.

Third, My Body Has Started Filing Complaints

Nobody warned me that reaching your fifties would involve making noises every time you stand up.

Or that sleeping in the wrong position could apparently qualify as a sports injury.

I used to be able to stay awake all night, function the next day, and recover without a second thought.

Now, if I sleep with my neck at an unfortunate angle, I need three days and a heating pad.

And let's discuss the glasses.

I need glasses to find my glasses.

Sometimes I use my phone's flashlight to search for my phone.

Which is usually in my hand.

Fortunately, I can still remember completely useless trivia information.

Where I put my car keys five minutes ago?

Classified information, apparently.

Fourth, I'd Like to Discuss the Customer Service Department

Who exactly handles complaints about adulthood?

Because I have questions.

Why does laundry reproduce when nobody is looking?

Why does the refrigerator contain absolutely nothing to eat immediately after I've spent $200 at the grocery store?

Why does every household appliance wait until I've paid all my bills before deciding to retire?

And why does a five-minute project require three trips to the hardware store?

I'd like to speak to a supervisor.

Unfortunately, I suspect the supervisor is also me.

This organization is clearly understaffed.

Finally, I've Decided to Change the Rules

After 52 years, I've reached a conclusion.

Nobody actually has adulthood completely figured out.

Some people are simply better at looking confident while improvising.

So I've decided to stop pretending there's a magical age when everything suddenly makes sense.

I'm going to laugh at the ridiculous things, enjoy the little victories, and occasionally eat something entirely inappropriate for breakfast.

I'm also going to continue asking questions.

Not because I'm particularly interested in being difficult, but because I've discovered that the older I get, the less interested I am in pretending something makes sense when it doesn't.

And sometimes, the most responsible thing an adult can do is absolutely nothing.

Preferably while sitting comfortably, drinking a Diet Mountain Dew, and ignoring the laundry.

If anyone happens to locate the person in charge of adulthood, please let me know.

I have several complaints.

And I'd really appreciate a copy of the employee handbook.

The Free-Range Advocate: Fifty-two years of experience, absolutely no formal training, and still waiting for management to explain the job description.