“It is so difficult being an adult.. don’t you think so?”, she said, as I sat there, contemplating the question in my head. Utter chaos. It wasn’t a sudden realization of the hardships of adulthood. I am not naive or demented enough to believe it is easy. The problems with being in charge of your own life are so inherent to the act that you overlook them. Imagine if a child were born with a mild headache. He would grow up to realize that the feeling is indeed unpleasant, but would be incapable of disassociating the pain with his existence. And she sat there, asking the kid if he felt wretched because of the pain in his head.