Lindsay Woods: 'On paper, I would say I’m averaging a strong rating of ‘Adequate’'

Recently, I ran into a woman who I had known as a teenager. Her appearance was immaculate whilst I looked like I had wrestled with a disgruntled cete of rabid badgers. We chatted for several minutes about life, work etc. She is incredibly successful and still as gracious as she was all those years ago.

It was only as we said our goodbyes that I realised that I had been gaping slack-jawed at her for a long enough period of time to make it both awkward and noticeable. As we parted ways, I am fairly certain that she floated away on a rainbow, bestowing good wishes upon the grateful and adoring public.

She left a faint trail of scent behind her, which everyone in her vicinity inhaled greedily. She smelt of all things expensive and good intentions. I smelt of ‘Eau de Generic’. As I sloped away with my trolley, Inoticed that I had forgotten to change the leggings I had been wearing when painting.

Now, I am not so far gone in my delusions to know that she too does not paint her skirting boards in heels. Who am I kidding? She probably has someone to do that for her. It was then that it dawned on me that we were exactly the same age.

I had always felt that she was older, even when we were younger, as she was incredibly assured and confident which had apparently translated into adulthood. It got me thinking as to how some of us appear to be much better at this adulting lark than others.

On paper, I would say I’m averaging a strong rating of ‘Adequate’ in the adult stakes without any fear of ‘Over- achiever’ being noted in the comment section.

But that’s only on paper. When you throw me, the person, into the equation, that rating becomes a little more skewed. If anything, I was better at being an adult in my 20s as opposed to my 30s. In essence, I seem to be regressing in some capacity.

There is a quote which does the rounds every so often on socials which reads:

We wanted to be adults so bad… now look at us!

There is so much truth in this that it hurts. But because we are supposed to be adults, we are advised to suck it up and not cry over it.

On occasion, I feel as if I have been a sold a lie. As if I booked a luxurious two-week holiday at an exclusive five-star resort only to discover on arrival that it is a hostel with a communal bathroom which you must share with two lads in GAA jerseys whose entire luggage consists of a hurl and sliothar.

There are many aspects of being an adult which are not to be sniffed at. You can stay up late without anyone telling you to go to bed. But you will be so beyond exhausted that you will more than likely wake up with a stiff neck on the sofa, sometime around midnight, with an angry request from the TV of, ‘Are you still watching this show?’

You can also eat what you like, when you like. But you have children, with the heightened senses of an elite, crack team of Marvel Superheroes who will hear you open a bag of crisps from several fields over.

Also, you’re not 21 anymore; as your body likes to remind you at every given opportunity. You are fortunate enough to have a car and imagine planning road trips of envious proportions.

You will use that vehicle for the following; school drop-offs, school pick-ups, ferrying them to multiple after school activities/matches/birthday parties etc. You will have so many trips to the supermarket that it will irk you if someone is parked in your space. That’s how often you will be there.

You will also be on a first name basis with everyone who works in the shop. Because you live there now. I’m also pretty sure that the image I was sold about what adulthood would look like, was a very glamourous one.

I would own a fancy apartment, have wardrobes chock full of clothes and eat out every other night. In truth, Dynasty was not the best benchmark for reality. I also did not anticipate that my version of ‘Living for the weekend’, would be a takeaway on the sofa in front of the TV and arguing over who was going to pull the weeds in the garden the following day.

Bottom line, I suppose, is that we are all just trying to make it through. However, I wouldn’t say no to that five-star holiday. But I’d need to make sure it has a kids’ club. Because. I’m a responsible adult don’t you know?