The Inner Monologue

It wasn’t when I got a job, paid taxes, or bought something with a warranty. It wasn’t a birthday or a milestone. It was the day I realized that no one in charge actually knows what they’re doing.

That’s the real initiation into adulthood: when the curtain drops and you see that the “grown-ups” running governments, corporations, and institutions are just older versions of confused kids with better titles and worse excuses.

Up until then, we’re trained to think there’s a plan — that somewhere there’s an adult in the room making sense of it all. But once you see through that illusion, you stop waiting for permission, stop expecting rescue, and start relying on your own judgment — flawed, stubborn, and unapproved as it may be.

That’s when adulthood hits: not as pride, but as responsibility. You realize the world runs on improvisation, fear, and branding, and that surviving it means learning to fake confidence better than the next guy.

So yes, I felt like a grown-up the first time I realized there are no grown-ups. Only people pretending not to panic.