Words by Stephanie Williams // photo by Alexey Demidov
I’m in my early thirties, old enough that I should be ‘adulting’ with grace and competence, but young enough that I should know all the trends and pop culture references. Except, even that word is a no-no now, Gen Z apparently made fun of us for it years ago, and I missed the memo while Googling how to boil an egg without turning it into a fossil.
Despite the fact I’ve lived out of home for over ten years, I still find myself Googling things like, “How many baked beans are too many baked beans?” and “What happens if I forgot to do my taxes?”. Living in a mixed share house has shown me I simply don’t know where I belong. My young housemates still learning and navigating their youth while my older housemates saving for houses and freezing their eggs. I feel trapped in the middle and unsure my place in the world.
In a way, despite my aching body, I feel like a teenager again, awkward, unsure, and constantly second-guessing everything. I just wish in this phase of learning, the addition of adult responsibilities could pause while we navigate who to be in this world, what kind of adult we want to be. Or perhaps we need a school for thirty year olds, or a short retreat or intensive on how to be a real adult. I feel like we get away with making mistakes in our twenties, but once we reach our thirties, things get more serious and we should know how to be.
My friends seem to have everything sorted, many have started families, some are prioritising their careers, while I’m here, juggling three casual jobs and searching for a hobby I actually enjoy. So far, baking, sewing, and gardening have all proven failures, but I’ve finally found something that makes me feel genuinely good, even if it doesn’t produce an end product.
I’ve discovered swimming, and it’s been a revelation. There’s something about being in the water that quiets my racing thoughts and reminds me I can still be playful with myself. I’m trying to remind myself that I don’t have to excel or turn it into something “productive”. I don’t even do laps, I just splash, float, and sometimes flail, and it’s enough. It’s the kind of gentle, ridiculous joy that reminds me that being an adult doesn’t always mean being serious.
So far the only thing I’ve learnt about my late coming of age is it’s about learning to embrace uncertainty, to laugh at your own mistakes, and to give yourself credit for surviving all the small disasters along the way. I’ve started finding people in a similarly limbo state, too young to be old, too old to be young and still trying to figure everything out.
So yes, I still juggle casual jobs, botch hobbies, and occasionally panic over whether I’m doing this “adulting” (sorry Gen Z) thing right. But slowly, I’m learning that maybe not having it all figured out is exactly the point. While I feel too old to be still learning, I’m embracing this messy, confusing, occasionally wonderfully enlightening period of my life. I’m learning to be kind to myself and to not beat myself up for not having everything sorted by now. I’m using my swimming as a means to rekindle my childhood joy (and by happy accident, I’ve been watching the nannas’ who swim together share the same silly joy in the water as me).
If you’re like me, feeling too old to be this confused, solidarity! It’s not easy navigating life with no guidebook while everyone assumes you already know what’s what. But if you ever feel lonely in your learning, remember: I’m at home, Googling whether pasta and cheese counts as a legitimate dinner for an adult. And somehow, somehow, we’re all going to make it through, awkward, uncertain, and maybe a little triumphant along the way.
