Adulting feels like a series of unfortunate events. It feels like a watchlist that never ends, or a to-be-read list that keeps growing. You’re taking blows without ever getting your lick back, and you’re catching strays because you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time. If it ain’t one thing, it’s another, and more to follow. Most of us, especially millennials, can probably agree that we’re sick of this shit.
We’s tired, boss… of the constant hustle—the never-ending grind to survive. The check comes in, and the bills take it all right back out. Struggling to find the time to work out, eat healthy, go to work, be an entrepreneur, and still make way for eight hours of sleep. It all feels impossible. It feels so crippling that you begin to wish you could escape it. But unfortunately, there’s no way to escape it, but dare I say it, death. And dare I confess, the idea has floated in my mind a time or few.
When depression strikes, adulthood can feel overwhelming, with capitalism pressing down and survival leaving little space for leisure or rest. It’s tempting to wish it would all just stop—not because you genuinely want to die, but because you desperately need a break. You’re gasping for air in a polluted world, searching for some semblance of peace or heaven, knowing it’s not here on Earth. The exhaustion is relentless, and no amount of vacation can truly restore you without the need for permanent sleep. Sometimes, you just want to say, ‘Fuck all this adulting.’
In 2025, I lost one of my oldest and best friends to cancer. Several of my family members were also diagnosed, while my mother was outside, living life to the fullest after ringing the bell. On Christmas morning, my brother’s best friend lost his baby brother, only a year older than me. If the year did nothing else, it reminded me of the importance of family and the brevity of life. As I sit here, commemorating what would have been my friend’s 36th birthday, I can’t help but think I’m glad to be here still.
Reflecting on our last conversation, I recall how much pain she endured, yet her resolve to see it through, to witness her daughter grow after childbirth. I smile at the memory of my mother galavanting across the country, taking trips and spending money to celebrate. Gratitude often becomes instinctive when you survive another day despite everything meant to kill you, when everything that tried to kill you fails. But other days, it’s so far away, lost in the routine as you complain and scramble for purchase. Who’s got time for gratitude when bills still need paying, the kids are crying, and the world and government seem to be falling apart? Damn, I’m sick of it. Still, I wish my friends could see this too.
To complain and get it done with me. To talk shit. To cry a little bit but turn up in the middle of a party. For a game night in the house while everything is burning. We could’ve really gone out together, in a blaze of glory. Instead, it feels like they are living through me. I am their eyes, their ears, their unfulfilled dreams. And as heavy as that can be, I appreciate it. I think they’d have a strange mix of joyfulness, envy, and disappointment. Joyful because I still get a chance, jealous because they don’t, disappointed because there are days I take it all for granted.
I remember that life is brief, but I often forget to seize the moment. I realize things could be worse, yet I don’t always recognize that I have it better than most. I remember, and I remember. I know, and I know. But then I forget, and forget. Soon, I find myself wishing it would all just end again. It turns into a relentless cycle of motivation and despair, gratitude and guilt, and I’m tired of it.
Adulting really sucks, I won’t deny it. But when I consider the alternative, it’s hard not to feel thankful. I am still here to watch my daughter grow; I had my turn as an engineer when my high school best friend didn’t—played D1 college basketball, even after my favorite teammate passed away before her first season. I’m doing things my mother didn’t get to do until she was 50. I am their eyes, ears, and their unfulfilled dreams. Adulting feels like a burden, an overrated privilege, yet I still have so many opportunities to do it big and go out in a blaze of glory. I remember, and I know. I want to stop forgetting, stop taking it for granted, and make sure I don’t have regrets when it all eventually ends.
LeChell Rush 