As a kid, I loved The Game of Life. It was my second-favorite game—behind Clue!

The road to adulthood seemed so straightforward: You went to college, started a fabulous job, got married, bought a Tudor house, had kids, and retired rich at Millionaire Estates.

Although I never envisioned myself as a “married in the suburbs with 2.5 kids, living in a McMansion” kind of woman, I did view success in terms of those types of benchmarks.

To me, adulthood meant owning a high-rise condo in a city, driving a luxury car—which would be unnecessary because, hypothetically, I lived in a city—marrying a loving partner, holding a prestigious job, and wearing designer clothes.

But aside from going to college and acquiring the occasional designer good, I haven’t ticked off the majority of the things on my list.

Despite that, I’ve had moments that have shown me what it really means to be an adult, regardless of whether I’ve passed the traditional litmus test.

Here are some of mine!

What I thought: Owning a home

What actually did: Creating a home that’s mine—even if I rent

Let’s preface this by saying, when I pictured my future life, it did not include the 2026 economy and housing market. The dream of homeownership has died for many people living in the U.S. But the idea that adulthood is achieved when you close on your first home has not.

While I achieved the status of living alone years ago—typically in a two-bedroom after a roommate vacated and I neglected to replace them—I’ve always lived in apartments furnished with hand-me-downs.

The furniture and overall bohemian, neutral color palette aesthetic belonged more to “the ghosts of roommates past” than to me.

When I signed a lease on my own one-bedroom apartment in April 2025, I decided I was sick of living in a place that didn’t reflect my style. I got rid of the inherited and abandoned furniture, like the worn chaise and scratched dining table, and embraced the mid-century modern style I love.

I purchased new furniture, including an oversized chaise lounge that cost more than I had ever spent on furniture to date. I added complementary shades of orange, blue, brown, and yellow, and incorporated artwork throughout the space. Rather than use the dining room as a dining room—after all, I eat in the living room—I repurposed the area into a home office with a mid-century desk and chair.

Now, when I walk through my apartment, I feel a sense of pride in what I created. It suits my needs and reflects my aesthetic. It feels mature, even if sometimes a little staged!

I thought a home could only be a home if it was owned, but redesigning my space showed me that a place becomes a home when you embrace it as your own.

What I thought: Being married

What actually did: Leaving a toxic relationship

Here comes the bridesmaid!

Next year will mark my fifth time serving as a bridesmaid, and although I am always honored to be included in a friend’s wedding day, to quote Charlotte from Sex and the City: “I’ve been dating since I was fourteen, where is he already?!”

We are conditioned to believe that marriage is inevitable. You grow up and you get married. Simple as that. And although I always say I am less concerned about marriage and more focused on finding a real partnership, I have yet to find success with either.

I’ve had a few significant long-term relationships, a handful of short-term relationships, and countless situationships.

For a long time, I stayed with someone who didn’t prioritize me, appreciate me, or respect me. He cheated, lied, and manipulated. I remember making excuses for his behavior, professing to friends that I truly loved him and that he loved me.

One day, it dawned on me that this version of love was actually my version of hate, and I found the courage to end the relationship for the final time.

Realizing that my value isn’t tied to whether I am paired off or single has allowed me to stop accepting partnerships that don’t serve me.

Calling it quits on a relationship you’ve invested a lot of time into can feel like a major setback, but for me, it was actually a defining moment of adulthood: realizing my own self-worth.

What I thought: Having a fancy job title

What actually did: Advocating for a salary that reflects my experience

Growing up, I knew exactly what I wanted to do: I wanted to be a journalist. I dreamed of living in NYC and writing for a magazine or newspaper.

But that did not happen.

I went to college, and after graduating with an English degree, I impulsively moved to Los Angeles at twenty-three with a boyfriend and seven thousand dollars.

I sort of fell into the nonprofit sector, working in development, which basically means I produce fundraising events, build relationships, and cultivate revenue for meaningful organizations.

My career is definitely not glamorous. I don’t have a corner office or an executive title. But I love what I do, and I am thankful to work for organizations whose missions align with my own values.

I’ve been working in this field for over eight years and, in all honesty, should be farther along in my career path. At times, I think my love for a mission has kept me at a job long after it ceased being beneficial to my own growth.

I’ve been in my current position for two and a half years. During that time, I survived a mass layoff that left me as the only development staff member on the ground in Los Angeles. I’ve taken on a larger leadership role, increased sponsorship and participation, and continued maintaining existing relationships while building new ones.

A couple of months ago, I realized I was underpaid and asked for a conversation with my supervisor.

Together, we discussed how my role has evolved and what I would like to see for myself in terms of compensation. I cited professional wins, my increased responsibilities, and comparable positions in the Los Angeles market.

I don’t know the outcome yet—we operate on a fiscal year, which just ended—but for me, the conversation was the moment I stopped undervaluing myself. I learned that advocating for a salary that reflects my skills and the job I perform is not greedy.

Sure, it is uncomfortable! There is something awkward about saying, out loud, “I believe my work is worth more.” But adulthood is full of uncomfortable conversations you have because avoiding them costs you more.

I used to think a fancy job title would make me feel successful. But, what actually made me feel like an adult was realizing my experience has value—and being willing to advocate for it.

What I thought: Being rich

What actually did: Paying for my own life

As kids, I think we all fantasize about growing up and becoming rich. When we’re grown-ups—because that’s what kids call adults—we’re going to live in a mansion, drive a sports car, vacation wherever we want, maybe even buy a boat. Why not?! Unlike our parents, we will be able to afford it!

And then we get to adulthood and quickly realize there’s a reason why our parents drove a Honda Accord; they were too busy buying even sexier things like groceries, car insurance, gas, furniture, and underwear.

I’m starting to think The Game of Life might have simplified things.

We already know I live in a one-bedroom apartment. And, as you may have guessed, I don’t own a boat or vacation on yachts. I also drive a 2008 Toyota and, in addition to my full-time job, I work two shifts a week slinging drinks in the Valley—my penance for an unknown crime in a past life.

But I paid off that Toyota years ago, and those less-than-glamorous jobs allow me to pay for fun extras like a month in Spain and not-so-fun necessities like rent, utilities, healthcare, and socks—the dreaded, now-welcomed stocking stuffer.

It’s a sobering feeling to know that there is no one to step in to pay the rent if I can’t, keep the lights on, or put a meal on the table.

But it’s also exhilarating to know that I am that person.

For me, solely supporting myself gives me something you can’t get from a sponsored lifestyle: true independence.

As much as it’s hard not to compare myself to my peers who are married, further along career-wise, or able to afford a Below Deck-style vacation, I don’t believe adulthood is a moment of arrival marked by a title, a wedding, or a mortgage.

Maybe it’s actually a series of smaller moments: when we create a space that’s our own, realize our self-worth, ask for what we deserve, and recognize that we are the person keeping our life together.

And, if using those benchmarks, I might actually be an adult!