The first time I ever felt like a grown-up was when I bought my first large appliance.
Later on, I signed my own leases, got my own jobs, bought my own car. I got my own health insurance, and of course I learned, as most of us do eventually, that we are all sweaty and insecure inside our skins and half of us on some level expect to be yelled at for eating paste thirty years ago, and that adulthood is more like an ocean* than an achievement.
Yesterday, I talked to a lawyer and among the other things Kevin and I needed to get made up, like medical powers of attorney, I set up a will. I have little enough in the way of possessions and cash, but the one thing that’s been hammered into my head by reading Neil Gaiman’s blog is make sure you leave clear records of where your creative properties go when you die.
So I did.
I can’t imagine that you get to be any more of a responsible adult than that.
Still don’t feel any more grown-up.
*Lots of treading water. Often fun. Occasionally treacherous. Now and again you drown.