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Being an adult is stressful. From being responsible to my own finances, livelihood, and future, things can get nerve-wracking. There is a myriad of situations where I can make a fool of yourself, ruin my life, or, even worse, have to ask my parents for help. As I grow older, however, I’ve noticed that my fears mature with me. Gone are the days where being rejected by a possible prom date gave me night terrors. I’m a grownup now. These fears are much more refined and important.
Blacking out at a company event.
“But wait,” you’re asking me. “Didn’t you do this a month ago at your work summer party?” Yes. Yes, I did. And let me tell you that it was terrifying. My work is extremely chill. We have a bar in our office, and we’re no strangers to getting rowdy. I’ve heard stories of one of my bosses drunkenly passing out in the office only to be awoken by the cleaning crew. The last time our director flew in from the Denver office, he tossed weed gummies out to us like some kind of dank Santa. You could say it’s a pretty laid-back place of employment.
However, that did not change the fact that when I woke up the morning after our work party, unable to remember anything from the last two hours of the open bar, I thought I was going to have a heart attack. No matter how cool my office is, the fact that I was extremely intoxicated while interacting with all my bosses is straight up terrifying. I was so on edge all weekend that I didn’t touch alcohol again until ten days later. 0/10. Would not recommend. It may happen again at the holiday party.
Any minor injury.
I’ve reached the point in my life where I just…don’t get better from injuries. I mean, I get better, but I basically never reach 100% again. I have a bad knee, a bad shoulder and a bad new, surgically repaired hip, and I’ve accepted that none of them will ever be fully capable again. I know that if I sprain my ankle playing volleyball, that ankle will probably bug me for the rest of my life. If I break a bone playing flag football, my dreams of being an NFL player being mildly athletic in my 50s are dashed. Basically, I’ve reached the age where my athleticism is starting to fade, and the last thing I want to do is speed that up with a stupid injury.
Having a video of me go viral.
If you had asked me five years ago if I wanted a video of me to go viral, I would have jumped at the opportunity. But 21-year-old me was naïve, dumb, and frankly, still cool. I wish I could say the same of adult me. Nowadays I know that any video of me that would get shared by the internet wouldn’t be for anything I’m proud of. It would probably show me drunkenly falling over, losing a fight, or my worst nightmare – being depicted as a racist. I’m not a racist, and I certainly don’t think I do or say racist things, but the way the internet shares things, with no context or fact-checking, who knows what could happen.
Also, I have a girlfriend, so all the possible positive outcome of me going viral (Gal Gadot seeing me and realizing that we should make adorable Israeli babies together) are nonexistent. My attitude on being internet famous has officially shifted from “my dream” to “something that would ruin my life.” That being said, feel free to follow me on Twitter.
Several days ago I was awoken to something repeatedly biting my face while I attempted to drag my brain out of REM sleep. Fast forward to 60 seconds later and I was frantically pulling my sheets off my bed, googling “signs of bed bugs,” and squinting in the harsh light of my lamp to see if my non-adjusted eyes could spy any signs of these apartment-destroying pests.
Luckily, it turned out to be a false alarm (I found out when the world’s fattest mosquito buzzed past my face, full of my blood), but nonetheless, it scared the shit out of me. Everything I’ve heard about bed bugs makes me terrified of them. They’re impossible to kill, they infest your whole apartment, and you have to sleep slathered in Vaseline to protect yourself. Fuck that. Fuck all of that. I’d rather eat my security deposit, toss all my furniture in the trash, and start new somewhere else than deal with sleeping in a nasty Vaseline bed. Bed bugs would decimate me mentally, emotionally, physically, and financially. As an adult, I can’t deal with that.
Getting someone pregnant.
Even though I’d like to think I’ve matured since I was 14, apparently my greatest fear has not. In fact, if anything, it’s gotten worse. If I knocked a girl up in high school or college, I had a pretty good chance of that girl agreeing we weren’t ready to be parents. But now? I’m 26, in a committed relationship, and with a stable job. Am I ready to be a parent? Fuck no. But will it be a lot harder to sell to my girlfriend? Fuck yes.
The idea of raising another human and being committed to being a parent for the rest of my life is still pants-shittingly scary. Sure, I like to say I’m an adult, but we all know that’s not actually true. The last pet I’ve had was a Betta fish I kept in an old Bacardi bottle. The last time I was asked to hold a baby I played up my shoulder injury as an excuse (I guess that’s one upside). As I’m typing this, I just remembered that I have succulent that I was supposed to water three weeks ago. I am nowhere near ready to have a child, and the very thought is paralyzing.
Sure, being an adult is freeing and exciting, but I can’t help but reminisce about a time when my biggest fear was something like my parents seeing search history. Actually, scratch that. That’s still my biggest fear. .