I was laying in bed the other night and looking out the window. There was a star rising behind some trees and it was flickering with the ruffling of the leaves in the wind.

It struck me with a strange awe that the light from that star would travel over an unfathomable distance and time to be blocked by something as insignificant as a leaf.

Or maybe I'm thinking about it the wrong way. The light might be coming all that way to shine down on a leaf. Pretty arrogant to assume the stars shine for me, right?

I turned 40 a couple months ago. For a while there I didn't keep track of how old I was, but around May of 2025, a drunk guy in a bar asked me how old I was and it took me a bit to remember I was 39 and it struck me that was pretty close to 40.

Most folks will say that age is just a number, that it's not as old as it used to be, etc etc. That's all well and good, but I'm not worried about the expectations of society. No, this is a time limit I gave myself a long time ago.

Back on Valentine's Day of 2006, I asked a very dear person to wait for me. She wanted to start a family with me and I was at that time adrift for many reasons. I told her I wasn't ready to have children and she asked me how long it would take.

My parents had me at age 40, so I told her I'd be a fully capable adult by then. She wasn't terribly happy with that, I think she saw it as me trying to dodge responsibility. Maybe I was, but I did mean it, I meant to be everything a human adult was supposed to be by age 40.

The time passed slowly. I made a lot of mistakes, had a lot of setbacks, but the time still passed. When I noticed I was 39, it felt like the sand was winding down in the hourglass.

I've talked a little before about the possibility of having kids. Feels pretty impossible for me at this juncture. I can barely tolerate myself at my most annoying, let alone someone who would be nothing but annoying.

But I've found myself thinking a lot since I almost died a few weeks after my birthday. I was in the hospital regretting that I was still that scared boy that couldn't stand on their own.

I'm here at the self-appointed time that I'd be a functional adult, and I don't have any of the things I thought I'd have by now. I thought an adult was supposed to have a certain kind of self-assurance, a certain kind of security and safety that they could grant to others.

Yeah I know nobody has that. Except for the folks who do. I can't look anyone in the eye and tell them I'll keep them safe, let alone a child. Maybe every parent lies to their kids in that way.

Or maybe the world I live in is on fire. I wish I could tell the people I love that it'll be alright, that the unsustainable fires of fascism will burn out, that the oppressive cruelty of the gluttonous buffoons who consider themselves the warlords of humanity will be starved and we'll have a kinder, stronger world to die in.

Don't get me wrong, things will change, but the fight is neverending, and it won't ever be us who will find themselves in the promised land. The only paradise we'll have is whatever moment of beauty we can build from whatever flimsy cardstock we can mete out from this world to shelter us from the storm that's been raging since the first humans did the same.

Is that my mission? To stand against all the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune and hold back the tide of misery to protect a moment of happiness that by definition cannot last forever? Is it for me to be a Man, to dream without making dreams my master? Is it for me to be an officer and a gentleman, to forego the specialization of insects?

I stand here at 40 years old and I'm just Jacob. In my favorite videogame of all time, Morrowind (2002), you can face the big bad at any time, but if you skip the plot he asks why you've shown up unprepared. I feel like I'm standing before the Red Mountain unarmed.

But then again, who am I to hold myself to the words of a nineteen year old who was asked to save someone who couldn't save themselves? I mean, as ignorant as I am now, the me of two decades ago didn't even know they knew nothing. It might be foolish to hold myself to a time limit set out by someone who couldn't face their fears.

Growing up, all the adults in my life instilled in me that there would be no playing or joy in my adult life. Once I turned 18, I would have to put away childish things and join the endless drudgery of human civilization. I sat in terror of my 18th birthday in the days leading up to it. My dearest high school hangout closed that day, and the normally sunny weather that had accompanied every birthday before was instead replaced with a rainstorm that followed me whenever I stepped outside.

It felt agonizingly on the nose.

Indeed, I felt a lot of shame into my twenties about wanting to be around friends more, to spend my days with my hobbies instead of slaving away in some shop in the mall as I'd been doing (though don't get me wrong, I wouldn't trade my mallrat days away- I'll talk about it some other time).

My brother tells me our parents used to have hobbies. Dad used to paint, used to play the guitar before I was born. Mom used to write fairy tales and sing and I knew she was a model before I was born. When I was young, my Dad played a few videogames. That all stopped with my family's economic woes caused by the Loma Prieta Earthquake in 1989. All I ever really did with my folks growing up was watch TV, mostly CSI and Stargate SG-1.

For a while it felt like I was the thing sucking the joy out of my family. It was actually untreated depression in a worsening economy, but every ounce of my joy felt like it came at the expense of someone else.

As I find myself at an age where I should be an adult, it occurs to me that maybe the reason I don't feel like I am is simply because I have a lot of joy in my life.

At dinner with Anna and another lovely friend on Friday, I mentioned how I didn't feel like a fully functional adult and they both disagreed.

After all I have my own apartment, I pay my bills, and manage my health. What else is there?

Anna marveled that one day when I told her I was bored with nothing to do, she suggested I clean my house and I simply had nothing to clean since I keep it fairly tidy.

I looked around at my house over the weekend and found there was quite a bit around that suggested I kept up with my responsibilities. My dishes were done, I'd made myself some meals, I'd even managed to vacuum somewhat recently. If I took a day off from some of my duties nothing would fall apart.

But what strikes people is how I keep my life active. How I constantly seek out new adventures and hobbies and am always introducing myself to people. My lovely friend told me that the real measure of success is happiness and I've been thinking about how that used to be my mantra, and I wonder when I forgot it.

I saw a movie at my other best friend's house a few years ago called Dolls (1987). Spoilers incoming: a bunch of toys come to life and start killing the awful people in the house, but hesitate for one of the grownups because in their estimation he is simply a kid who looks like a grownup, and his good heart ultimately gets him spared.

That movie made me feel seen in a way I hadn't been before. I don't see a lot of media that challenges the idea of adulthood, which ultimately is tied to how we contribute to our society through labor and procreation. I don't believe either of those things should be what adulthood is about.

I don't know if I'm all the things an adult should be. I think an adult should be safe to come to with problems and they'll do their best to help. I think an adult should be able to find joy in the world for themselves and the ones they love. I think an adult should be able to decide who they are in this ever chaotic landscape we call life unbound by the expectations set out by people who could never know what we would face.

And I suppose ultimately an adult should know when their younger self was wrong, and live for what's important.