There is no destination called adult. Adulthood is a scam, a lie, a myth | Coco Khan

For my final column, my biggest lesson yet: there is no model, there is only trying

When I was a child, I longed to be an adult. For my 10th birthday, I demanded a cake in the shape of a 10, delighted to be an age that was two digits rather than one. Adults had freedom to do what they wanted; not like me who could barely snaffle a biscuit without someone noticing. I was always being told “be good, do well, make us proud” and not what I wanted (ie to play Tomb Raider, and have crushes on fictional teen characters played by weirdly older actors).

When I started this column, documenting my journey to a happy adulthood, I knew that the traditional trappings (house, kids, pension; freedom achieved by financial security) were slipping out of reach for my generation. I searched for another model. That four-year journey covered driving lessons, pet parenthood, broken friendships, emotional burn-out – and that’s before the pandemic.

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