When Adulthood Became Optional

Something changed adulthood.

There wasn’t a collapse.
No single moment where the floor gave way.
No announcement that adulthood had been canceled.

It just… softened.

Expectations blurred.
Timelines stretched.
Responsibility became negotiable.

And because it happened slowly, most people never noticed it as a change. It just started feeling normal.

There was a time when adulthood wasn’t debated. It arrived whether you felt ready or not. You stepped into it because that’s what came next. Not joyless. Not cruel. Just assumed.

You grew up, then you carried something.

That didn’t mean you stopped enjoying life. It meant enjoyment stopped being the organizing principle.

Today, that assumption is gone.

Now adulthood is framed as a lifestyle choice. Something you opt into selectively. Something you can delay without consequence. Something you can customize so it never asks too much of you.

And that shift matters more than people realize.

Not because nostalgia is bad.
Not because comfort is evil.
But because cultures run on timing.

When certain roles used to arrive automatically, people prepared for them without thinking about it. You didn’t need motivation. You didn’t need permission. You didn’t need a framework. You knew what was expected next.

When those expectations disappear, people don’t become worse. They become uncertain.

Uncertainty doesn’t always look like fear. Often it looks like drifting. Like staying where things feel familiar. Like choosing experiences that don’t demand growth. Like preferring loops over arcs.

Nothing wrong with a loop—unless it replaces the arc entirely.

We talk a lot about burnout, disengagement, lack of ambition. But we rarely talk about the missing middle: the quiet space where adulthood used to be reinforced.

Not enforced. Reinforced.

By institutions.
By culture.
By other adults who had already crossed the line and were standing there, waiting.

When that reinforcement fades, people don’t rebel. They linger.

They stay very good at being comfortable.
Very good at optimizing enjoyment.
Very good at avoiding the kinds of friction that used to shape judgment.

What they’re less practiced at is carrying weight without immediate reward.

That shows up later. Always later.

It shows up when long-term goals feel overwhelming.
When patience feels unnatural.
When responsibility feels like an imposition instead of a role.
When everything important starts to feel heavier than it should.

And because no one ever said, “This is the moment you step forward,” people assume the moment never arrived.

This isn’t about one generation.
It isn’t about entertainment.
It isn’t about taste.

It’s about what happens when a culture stops signaling that adulthood is something you grow into—and starts signaling that it’s something you manage around.

A culture like that doesn’t break overnight. It just becomes fragile. Quietly. Politely. With good intentions.

You don’t notice until something needs to be carried for a long time—and fewer people feel prepared to pick it up.

That’s the drift.

Not away from joy.
Away from becoming.

When did growing up stop being the destination?

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micvicfaust@intelligent-people.org