Things I Thought I'd Have Figured Out By Now

When I was younger, I assumed that adulthood came with some sort of instruction manual. I figured there would come a day when I magically knew what I was doing. Maybe around 30. Definitely by 40. Surely by now I'd have life completely figured out.

As it turns out, adulthood is mostly just Googling things, pretending to know what you're doing, and hoping nobody notices.

There are quite a few things I genuinely thought I would have mastered by this point in my life.

For example, folding a fitted sheet. Who invented fitted sheets and why are they so angry? Every few months I convince myself that this will be the time I learn. I watch a video. I carefully follow the instructions. I tuck corners into corners. I flip things inside out. I say things like, "Ohhhh, now I get it." Ten minutes later I'm standing in my laundry room holding what looks like a fabric octopus having a nervous breakdown. The fitted sheet gets folded into a vaguely square shape and shoved into the linen closet where it can no longer hurt anyone.

Then there are houseplants.

I love the idea of being a plant person. I picture a beautiful home filled with thriving greenery. Sunlight streaming through the windows. Healthy plants everywhere. Guests walking in and saying, "Wow, you really have a gift." Instead, my plants are constantly participating in a survival competition. Somehow I manage to both overwater and underwater them at the same time. At this point, if a plant survives in my house for more than six months, it deserves an award and possibly its own parking space.

Laundry is another mystery.

I've been doing laundry for decades. DECADES. How is it possible that there is always laundry? I could spend an entire Saturday washing, drying, folding, and putting everything away. Every basket empty. Every sock matched. Every drawer organized. And yet somehow by Tuesday the laundry room looks like a crime scene. I don't understand the math. There are four people living in my house. Why does it feel like twenty-seven?

Let's talk about drinking enough water.

Every morning I wake up determined. Today's the day. I fill up my giant water bottle. I carry it everywhere. I feel responsible and hydrated. Then I get busy. At 4:00 PM I discover the bottle sitting exactly where I left it six hours ago. Untouched. Meanwhile I've had seventeen conversations, answered twelve emails, started dinner, folded laundry, solved three family crises, and somehow forgotten to take a single sip. Apparently keeping other humans alive is easier than remembering to hydrate myself.

And finally, perhaps the greatest mystery of all: walking into a room and immediately forgetting why I went there. This happens so often that I no longer question it. I simply accept it as part of my personality. I'll walk into the kitchen with purpose and determination. Then suddenly I'm standing there staring at the refrigerator.

Why am I here?

What was my mission?

Was I getting something?

Putting something away?

Solving world hunger?

Nobody knows.

Eventually I return to the room I came from and hope the thought finds me again. Usually it doesn't.

The older I get, the more I realize that adulthood isn't about having everything figured out. It's about discovering that nobody has everything figured out. Some people are just better at hiding it. The rest of us are out here drinking cold coffee, ignoring our dying plants, living out of laundry baskets, and wandering from room to room like confused NPCs in a video game.

And honestly? I find that strangely comforting. Because maybe having it all together isn't the goal. Maybe the goal is laughing at the chaos, giving ourselves a little grace, and remembering that we're all just doing our best.

Even if we can't fold a fitted sheet.

This is the real mom shit—the stuff we don’t always say out loud. ❤️— Jennifer