Loosely inspired by Oscar Wilde’s drunken, properly placed arrogance in Only Dull People are Brilliant at Breakfast (a.k.a. Twitter before Twitter) and this beautiful Vogue listicle by Alexa Chung on 40 years of life. In structure, at least.
To say that I have a lot of contemplations about being an adult is an understatement.

What exactly constitutes as an “adult”?
I’m trying to put my finger on a single defining entity that encapsulates the adult experience for most, but I can’t seem to arrive on anything. It can’t just be as rigid or simplified as an age range, right?
I default to the good people over at Merriam-Webster for a definition – an adjective pertaining to a “fully developed and mature” being. Whatever that means.
Does it begin as soon as we step down that graduation stage? It can’t be, not when I’m seeing college students work part-time jobs for their lives vs. grown-ass couples having the collective emotional maturity of a Captain Underpants character.
Does it begin the moment I start learning how to drive stick on a sedan? An SUV? When I go to a café by myself for the sole purpose of reflecting on the week that was over a cup of coffee and a journal? When I start lining up in musty government buildings for entire days? When I move out to live on my own? Does it begin when I start worrying about withholding taxes and mortgages and VULs and IOUs and REITs and KPIs and more letter combinations that I feel like I should know about?
Was there a rite of passage somewhere that I wasn’t invited to? Is there a rite of passage somewhere that I’m not invited to?
Merriam-Webster’s third definition – dealing in or with explicit sexual material. Dictionaries aren’t helping me as much these days, I realize. All I know is I’m an adult now, a self-proclamation unceremoniously bestowed upon me like a magical hot potato.
I tend to ponder. A lot. This past year – of successes, of failures, of confidence, of fragility, of change, of stagnation, of long days and short quarters, of no thematic reason whatsoever – took it to the extreme.
There were one too many times where I caught myself being a spectator of my own; as if I’m floating overhead and observing in the third person while the actual, physical Gab on the ground performs a simulation. It’s as if I remove myself from a complicated situation to view an array of choices presented to me by the universe on how I can respond to the state of affairs, except even with this viewpoint, I’m not fully cognizant of what I should do. This is my first time playing the game, after all.
Long walks are the fucking best. I read somewhere that whenever you feel stuck in a situation, the simplest, most accessible remedy is to just…go outside and walk. I didn’t get it at first, I used to think of walking as a purely physical undertaking. Not until I started focusing on the fundamentals, the intricacies of the setting that be: the gust of wind, the crumbling of pavement in each step taken, the ensemble of people living their own lives, the smell of food (or God forbid, dog turd) in the air. I learned to become more observant of the minute things, and just registering the machinations of everyday life continue to hum along regardless of your situation makes you realize that you never really are in a standstill.
There are two things I draw attention to the most on Instagram these days: cheesy, emotionally stirring content from digital creators, and the darkest shitposts on Reels known to humankind.
But anyway, I’d like to share some IG accounts of the former’s variety that I find a ton of light in:
@starparkdesigns – Takes a bit of an unorthodox route as far as inspirational quotes go by employing Wild, Wild west themes, but it sure as hell works like a charm.@friendsofanthonybourdain – As a big Bourdain groupie, I appreciate this account for staying active even eight years after his death. Seems like I need a reminder from the old man from time to time.
@americanbaron – An immensely talented filmmaker. This shortform about a hotel of “could’ve beens” I think perfectly encapsulates the type of stuff he puts out.
It helps to have an unreasonable hobby to keep you delusional. In my case: cars. I never expected myself to be a car guy, but the thing with being an F1 fan is that that membership comes bundled with an irrational, insatiable connection to hunks of metal that go vroom. Like I’m well aware that I probably won’t afford a Ferrari in my lifetime but that won’t stop me from liking IG posts of a white Testarossa cruising past the streets of South Beach. And buying a Tomica version of it.
Corollary: There’s a niche subset of Facebook users that I feel don’t get enough knack for being cringe – the tito-types who make their entire personality around being armchair MMDA officials and literally all they post about are passive-aggressive remarks on bike lanes and street children and jaywalkers and traffic. I’m making it my life’s mission to never be that guy.
One thing that holds true with adulthood is the fact that the world becomes an immensely open place. The opportunities you can take, the places you can go to, the scenarios you can play out, the choices you can make compounds ten-fold. It’s both a comforting and frightening thought.
I had to make a very, very, very important decision this year that might have very well defined the fabric of the rest of my career. Just looking back at being right in the thick of the decision-making bubble – the gravity, the risk, the danger, the alternatives – makes me want to hurl. That was the worst three months of my life. At least, for now. I realize: a gargantuan part of being an adult is recognizing that tough decisions are going to be a mainstay now.
It’s astounding to me how I’ve gotten in situations where I was able to solicit two contrasting advices, except both of them actually make sense. The world was never black and white in the first place, after all.
I recently came across the concept of a third place, which is essentially a space other than home or work that you want to frequent to. It often takes the shape of a communal space where a congregation of people get together on grounds of a common interest (e.g. a book club), a place to unwind (e.g. a coffee shop), or a place to go unhinged (e.g. a bar). Think Fight Club, Central Perk, MacLaren’s Pub. I read somewhere that a possible factor as to why there seems to be a heightened sense of misery and dread in Gen Z’s is that we haven’t collectively occurred to find our third place. The smartphone has served as a wrongful replacement for it. The age of hyperproductivity, optimization, and wanting to “escape the matrix” has desensitized us from the desire of simply just hanging back and being in the moment. That makes a ton of sense to me, and I’ve made it a goal of mine to make an effort in finding my promised land, even if it’s just for a couple of hours at the end of a work week.
Special item dedicated for me to express how amazing of a fucking show Succession was/is. I am literally Kendall Roy.
No matter how much you say you can do it alone, you really can’t. And that’s coming from me.
How I keep myself sane on the day-to-day: it’s all about performing a balancing act between being content and making the best of what I have at the moment vs. maintaining a hunger to attain for things that I want but don’t have the luxury of at the moment. I do my best to stand in the middle of these two philosophies because while I hope to maintain a certain level of intensity for my aspirations as much as possible, that shit just gets draining if you skew all the way towards that direction. You lose sight of what you already have, you have this sustained feeling of inadequacy and ingratitude. I found that it’s healthy to slow down at times, kind of a reset to acknowledge what I’ve already accomplished, and leveraging that headspace to guide my intentions.
Comparing yourself to other people – peers, people younger than you, people older than you, dead people, people on the internet, fictional people – is quite literally the worst thing you can do to yourself.
Don’t be too hard on yourself, man. We did well.