Sometimes I sit quietly and think about one very dangerous question.
What were my parents doing at my age?
And every time I ask it, I immediately regret it.
Because the answer is never comforting.
At my age, my parents were already doing serious things.
Responsible things.
Impressive things.
They were building a life.
Raising children.
Making decisions that sounded official.
At my age, I am still deciding what to eat.
There is something deeply humbling about realizing that when your parents were your age, they were probably already parents.
Meanwhile, I feel accomplished if I reply to emails on time.
My father at my age probably knew how to fix things.
Real things.
Broken doors.
Electrical problems.
Mysterious sounds coming from the ceiling.
If I hear a mysterious sound, I lower the volume and pretend it is not happening.
My mother, at my age, probably had recipes memorized. Full meals prepared without tutorials. Guests are welcomed without panic.
If guests arrive unexpectedly, I negotiate with time and delivery apps.
And yet, my parents never made it look dramatic.
They did not post about it. They did not announce milestones publicly. They simply moved forward with a quiet sense of responsibility.
At my age, they had confidence that felt natural.
At my age, I still double-check basic decisions.
Did I send that message correctly?
Was that tone appropriate?
Should I have used fewer emojis?
When my parents were my age, they were planning long-term.
Thinking about stability.
Thinking about the future.
At my age, I am thinking about whether I remembered to cancel a free trial subscription.
There is a strange pressure in comparing generations.
It feels like looking at two different movies with the same title.
Their version of adulthood was structured.
Clear roles.
Clear expectations.
Responsibilities arrived early and stayed firmly.
Our version of adulthood feels flexible.
Options everywhere.
Freedom everywhere.
Also, confusion everywhere.
They were building homes.
We are building passwords.
They had fewer distractions.
Fewer screens.
Fewer opinions shouting at them every minute.
We wake up, and the entire world is already talking.
Maybe that is why everything feels slightly delayed for us.
It is not that we are less capable.
It is that we are navigating a louder world.
Still, the comparison remains funny.
At my age, my parents probably owned furniture that matched.
I own furniture that exists.
At my age, they were making sacrifices without dramatic speeches. They were simply doing what needed to be done.
At my age, I celebrate surviving Monday.
But here is something interesting.
When I look closer, I realize my parents probably felt uncertain too.
They just did not have the luxury of overthinking it publicly.
They made decisions and adjusted along the way. They did not wait to feel fully ready. They stepped into responsibility because life required it.
Maybe they also looked at their own parents and thought, “How did they do all this?”
Maybe every generation quietly believes the previous one was more prepared.
The truth is, nobody feels completely ready.
Adulthood is not a sudden transformation. It is a slow accumulation of small decisions.
My parents at my age were not superheroes. They were simply consistent.
And perhaps that is the real difference.
Consistency looks impressive in hindsight.
When I think about it longer, I also notice something else.
They built stability.
We are building flexibility.
They committed early.
We explore longer.
Neither is wrong. Just different.
The world they stepped into demanded structure.
The world we stepped into demands adaptation.
They handled challenges without WiFi.
We handle WiFi without stability.
Both are difficult in their own way.
So yes, when I ask what my parents were doing at my age, the answer still makes me sit up straighter.
It makes me laugh at myself a little.
It makes me question my priorities.
But it also reminds me of something important.
Adulthood is not a race against your parents.
It is a journey shaped by your time.
Maybe at my age, my parents were doing more visible responsibilities.
But maybe at my age, I am learning different skills they never had to learn.
Managing constant information. Navigating modern complexity. Balancing independence with uncertainty.
And perhaps one day, someone will look at me and ask the same question.
“What were you doing at my age?”
I hope the answer will not be embarrassing.
Or at least, not completely.
Until then, I will continue doing what most adults secretly do.
Trying my best.
Laughing at the comparison.
And occasionally wondering if I should learn how to fix that mysterious ceiling sound.
Just in case.