If you don't mind my waxing philosophic for a moment, being an adult still seems strange to me. I always expected as a kid that there would be some switch, some event, something, that would mark the end of childhood and the beginning of adulthood. I don't know what that would be, I just expected it. Instead, it's simply one continuous experience where one day you wake up and you're 35.
There's still a part of me that's the scrawny, maladjusted, self-esteem challenged 14 year old. There's still a part of my brain that will kick in when having a serious conversation with someone saying, "Wow, this is an adult conversation." There's still a part of me that wonders how my parents always seemed to have it so together, or at least able to handle what came at them.
I still can't figure out what being an adult is about. Obviously, I'm doing something right. I've been married to the greatest woman on the planet for just over 12 years. I'm very successful in my career.
But the fact still remains that I'm still waiting for the day when someone calls me out for being a fake and I find myself back in high school.