how they trick people into becoming adults.

the adulthood trap.

Adulting is hard. It's the unpredictability of it all.

Today’s plans give way to a leaking ceiling, a trip to the GP with my six-year-old—who is not well enough to go to school, but fine enough to pester me for McDonald’s. The heating on the top floor stops working an hour before the parent-teacher meeting, around the same time the tenants in your rental property inform you they intend to move out this summer. And on top of all that, work is just deadline after deadline — we need you at this meeting — deadline.

Take a moment to shout out my parents, my wife’s parents, and my parents' parents. I don’t know how they did it all on minimum wage, sprinkled with immigrant racism.

Some days, it feels like there’s always something new to figure out, on top of everything you already planned. When people told me getting older was hard, I imagined the aches and pains, extra belly weight, and a few grey hairs. But nobody ever described the sheer number of decisions you have to make.

Decisions get harder as you get older. When you’re young, you don’t really make decisions; you discover possibilities, chase opportunities, and explore options. The decisions have consequences, sure, but you have time to bounce back and try again. With each passing year, though, the decisions carry bigger implications, and that pressure creeps into your heart and keeps growing.

‘I don’t want to be older, Daddy,’ my six-year-old says at least once a month.

‘Why not, bud? Everyone…’ Before I can respond, I often think about the Taylor Swift song, Don’t You Ever Grow Up. (I’m not a new-age Swiftie, but an OG fan — her first album stayed on repeat in my iTunes. White Horse is timeless.)

The lyrics go:

Oh, darlin', don't you ever grow up

Don't you ever grow up

Just stay this little

Oh, darlin', don't you ever grow up

Don't you ever grow up

It could stay this simple

I won't let nobody hurt you

Won't let no one break your heart

And no one will desert you

Just try to never grow up

Never grow up

But I do want him to grow up. I want to walk him to his first day of school, cheer from the sidelines, teach him how to drive, sit in the front row of his graduation, meet his wife etc. I want it all, even if it comes at the cost of more adulting. Nothing worthwhile in life comes for free.

I tell him, ‘Everyone gets older, and one day you’ll be taller than me. But I’ll still be stronger.’

That makes him smile.

‘Daddy, I want to be older but…’ He scratches his chin, deep in thought, before continuing: ‘I’ll be sad that I can’t live with you, Mummy, and my brother anymore.’ I smile because, at six years old, somehow, he gets it. It won’t always be as simple as after-school munchkin sports, weekend swimming, holiday clubs, and birthday parties. Adulting is complicated.

I’m not old, but I’m an adult with a career, a wife, and bills (aka the kids). I understand what responsibility feels like. Some days, I look to the heavens and ask myself, Why the hell did I choose all this? After my weekly breakdown, I remind myself that choice is freedom.

My reality gives me the option to choose my difficulties. I am not starving, homeless, or bed-bound. I am free to choose adulting. I make decisions—sometimes they turn out well, sometimes they don’t—but I get to make them. Every day, I see less fortunate people who somehow manage to keep going.

The price of adulting is heavy, but nothing worthwhile comes for free.

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I’m working a new book ‘It's Not You, It's We (Notes On Understanding Love)’ Pre-order here. As a self-published writer, pre-orders really help me manage inventory, so I don’t take up precious space in my office with books nobody wants.

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Story Time: Newwww Yoooorrkk! Concrete jungle where…..(you know the rest): How to conquer fear when you are a Londoner in NYC.

Two months ago, I challenged myself to go out and sell copies of my book The Book You Wish You Had Read Before Marriage on the street, old-school style. I convinced myself that if I truly believed in my project, I wouldn’t be afraid to tell strangers about it and champion it to the world. Plus, if I don’t grind and sell these books—hint hint, you can still order via the link—who will?

So during our summer holiday in New York, while my wife and kids slept comfortably in hotel beds, I hit the streets of NYC. It started out brutal. Though I had already sold books on the streets of London, you can’t compare NYC to London—everyone is trying to sell something in New York. I will say that people in New York are significantly more encouraging than those in London. Unlike the typical grunts and “Sorry, not interested” I’d become accustomed to in London, New Yorkers would hit me with “That’s so cool, man” or “It’s not my thing, but keep hustling, my man.”

Around 11 PM (because New York really doesn’t sleep), as the night wore on, after no sales and almost ready to pack it in, I turned onto a street and noticed two young women chatting outside a hotel. One of the key lessons I’ve learned about cold selling is to never approach people on the move. In a big city like NYC, they’re either busy or headed somewhere. My fear told me to leave them alone, my instincts told me to run, but my mind reminded me how much I believed in my work. So, I approached the young women.

“Are either of you into reading by any chance?”

I anticipated rejection and prepared myself to double back and get the hell out of there.

To my surprise, one of the women’s eyes widened. “Oh my God, I love reading!”

This led to a pleasant conversation about the Dominican Day Parade they had attended and my inspirations for writing. After the brief conversation, Breily (one of the women) took my book and read the blurb. Time stood still as my heart thumped while I waited.

Eventually, she spoke. “I like this. How much is it?”

The tension in my body melted, and I sighed in relief. After explaining that I didn’t accept cash, Breily agreed to transfer the money via my website.

We thank God. Mission accomplished.

This all happened in August, but today I woke up to a heartwarming message from my short-term friend, Breily:

The moral of the story: Keep hustling, you never know when someone might say ‘Yes’.