Things I’m Embarrassingly Excited About as an Adult

I need to know when adulthood was supposed to make me sophisticated.

Because I fear it didn’t happen.

I can have a serious conversation about life, relationships, business, technology, what the internet is doing to human connection…

and then somebody hands me a perfectly cold Sodie pop and suddenly I’m six.

Like LOOK AT HER. 😭

Why am I this happy?

Actually, don’t answer that. Let me have this.

The older I get, the more I realize some of my favorite moments aren’t the big impressive ones.

They’re tiny.

Ridiculous.

Sometimes completely meaningless.

And for some reason they make my whole little brain light up.

So today we’re discussing the extremely serious subject of:

Things I am embarrassingly excited about as a grown woman.

Fresh Sheets Are Basically a Religious Experience

There are few experiences more luxurious than showering, shaving, doing your skincare, putting on clean pajamas and climbing into freshly washed sheets.

You know the little leg wiggle.

Don’t lie.

You get into bed and suddenly you’re rubbing your legs around like a cricket because everything feels SO GOOD.

And if the room is cold???

Ohhhh babe.

Goodnight.

Cancel my plans.

Tell my family I loved them.

I live here now.

The funniest part is that I washed the sheets.

I did the work.

Then somehow I get into bed later like:

Who did this for me?! 🥹

Me.

It was me.

Thank you, past Lexi.

Beautiful work.

Finding a New Snack Becomes My Entire Personality

If I discover a food I love, everyone is going to hear about it.

I don’t make the rules.

I’ll be standing in the kitchen eating something like:

Wait.

WAIT.

Why is this so good???

And immediately I need somebody else to try it because apparently enjoying something privately is not enough.

I need witnesses.

Then I’ll buy it repeatedly until I’ve eaten it so many times that one day my brain randomly decides:

Absolutely not.

We hate this now.

And that’s the end of an era.

No warning.

No closure.

Just an abandoned box in the pantry and emotional devastation.

Packages

I know what I ordered.

I literally selected the item.

Entered my information.

Paid for it.

Received the confirmation email.

Tracked it approximately 14 times.

And somehow when I see a package outside my door:

WHAT DID I GET?!

Girl.

You know.

YOU BOUGHT IT.

Doesn’t matter.

Still a present.

From me.

To me.

Because apparently online shopping allows you to temporarily separate yourself into two different people:

Lexi Who Orders Things

and

Lexi Who Receives Gifts.

I support both women.

When the House Is Actually Clean

Not mostly clean.

Not “I moved everything into one room people won’t see” clean.

Actually clean.

Counters clear.

Laundry done.

Floor clean.

Bed made.

Everything smells good.

Suddenly I become a woman who has her entire life together.

I start walking around admiring rooms I’ve seen every day.

Look at this counter.

Nothing on it.

Incredible.

Who lives here?

Certainly not the woman who had seventeen cups scattered around approximately four hours ago.

And I swear a clean house gives me completely unreasonable confidence.

I’m like…

Maybe I should start a company.

Learn Italian.

Write a book.

Meal prep.

I’ve clearly mastered life.

Then I find one random pile of stuff I shoved somewhere while cleaning and the illusion collapses.

We’ll deal with her tomorrow.

Finding a Song That Scratches My Brain Correctly

This might be one of my favorite feelings in the world.

You hear a song.

Then that part happens.

And something inside your brain goes:

Oh. OH YES. THAT. AGAIN.

So obviously you listen to it normally once.

Then again.

Then again.

Then you replay one specific 14-second section until the song has lost all relationship with time and space.

Now we’re dancing.

Now we’re imagining an entire music video.

Now we’ve invented a fictional scenario that has never happened.

Now we’re performing to an invisible audience in the kitchen.

This escalated quickly.

Music can change my entire mood faster than almost anything.

And I hope that never changes.

Cancelling Plans You Secretly Didn’t Want to Attend

Okay.

I love people.

I love going places.

I love experiencing things.

But there is a very specific form of joy that occurs when you’re mentally preparing yourself to leave the house and suddenly:

“Hey, can we reschedule?”

Oh noooo.

That’s terrible.

🥺

Anyway.

PANTS OFF.

You mean I can stay home???

In my own house???

With all my stuff???

And nobody expects me to look presentable???

What an unexpected tragedy.

I’ll recover somehow.

When Something I’ve Been Avoiding Takes Seven Minutes

This one actually makes me angry.

I’ll avoid something for three days.

Think about it 47 times.

Feel guilty every time I remember it.

Move it from today’s list to tomorrow’s list.

Then tomorrow’s list to tomorrow’s tomorrow list.

Finally I can’t take it anymore.

Fine.

LET’S DO THE THING.

Seven minutes later:

Done.

…

Excuse me?

THAT was it?

I’ve been emotionally carrying this task around like a Victorian woman waiting for her husband to return from war and it took SEVEN MINUTES?

My brain is fascinating.

Deeply irritating.

But fascinating.

Getting Really Good Fruit

Nobody prepares you for the point in adulthood when fruit becomes exciting.

You bite into a strawberry and it’s actually sweet?

Ohhhhh.

Everybody needs to try this strawberry immediately.

A perfectly ripe peach?

Dangerous.

Cold watermelon when it’s hot outside?

Five-star dining.

And don’t even get me started on buying fruit that looks beautiful, bringing it home, and discovering it tastes like flavored water and disappointment.

Betrayal.

I trusted you.

When Someone Remembers Something Tiny About Me

Okay, this one isn’t silly.

But it might be my favorite.

When somebody remembers something you mentioned weeks ago.

A food you like.

A song.

Something you were nervous about.

A random story.

The way you take your coffee.

Something you said once that you didn’t even realize they were paying attention to.

There’s something incredibly intimate about being remembered.

Not watched.

Not followed.

Not liked.

Remembered.

Maybe that’s why little things mean so much to me.

Because little things are where people live.

I Don’t Think I Want to Outgrow This

There was a time when I thought becoming an adult meant becoming more serious.

More composed.

Less easily impressed.

You stop being the kid who wants everyone to LOOK LOOK LOOK because you found something cool.

You become sophisticated.

Whatever that means.

But honestly?

I don’t want that.

Life already gives us plenty of reasons to become serious.

Bills will arrive.

People will disappoint us.

Things will change before we’re ready.

We’ll lose people.

We’ll question ourselves.

We’ll have mornings when getting out of bed feels heavier than it should.

There will always be something to worry about.

So if a clean set of sheets makes me ridiculously happy?

Good.

If I want chicken tendies?

I’m getting the chicken tendies.

If a song comes on and I need to stop what I’m doing because apparently the kitchen has become a nightclub?

Move.

You’re blocking my stage.

If I see something beautiful and my first instinct is still:

OH MY GOD LOOK!!!

I hope I’m 80 and still doing that.

Maybe growing up isn’t supposed to mean becoming harder to impress.

Maybe maturity isn’t losing the childlike parts of ourselves.

Maybe it’s learning which ones are worth protecting.

The curiosity.

The silliness.

The excitement.

The ability to find something magical in something completely ordinary.

Because the world is going to ask us to be serious often enough.

It doesn’t need our help.

So get excited.

Be ridiculous.

Order dessert.

Dance in the kitchen.

Tell somebody about the really good strawberry.

Love little things way more than they deserve.

And if somebody thinks you’re too easily amused?

Perfect.

Sounds like you’re having more fun than they are.

xoxo,

Alexus Rae ♡