It's funny. You become an adult and society hands you an invisible instruction booklet.

Here. Follow these instructions, get all these things right, and you will have figured out how life works. You will officially qualify as a responsible adult who has earned the right to take up space on this planet.

Of course, as with any good pharmaceutical commercial, there's some fine print.

Possible side effects include: chronic stress, mental health problems, a biochemical environment that steadily erodes your biological capacity, and the gradual disappearance of the very aliveness this entire prescription was supposedly designed to give you.

Do not discontinue use.

Failure to follow the prescribed sequence can result in being called LAZY, a BUM, directionless, irresponsible, selfish, or someone who never amounted to anything.

However, follow the plan that's been so thoroughly ingrained in your mind and body, and congratulations.

You will be called GOOD.

And what does being GOOD require?

Have a successful career. Make good money. Buy a beautiful house. Furnish it, decorate it, keep it spotless, keep it organized, keep the lawn looking nice, stay on top of the repairs, and make sure the whole thing looks effortlessly beautiful. Pay the mortgage, the property taxes, the insurance, the utilities, and whatever it costs to fix the thing that broke this month.

Keep up with the laundry. Wash it, dry it, fold it, put it away, change the sheets, wash the towels, and start all over again because apparently nobody is willing to stop wearing clothes.

Plan the meals, buy the groceries, cook from scratch, make sure everyone gets enough protein, vegetables, vitamins and minerals, preferably organic, and ideally something everyone actually wants to eat. Clean the kitchen, pack the lunches, and figure out what to cook tomorrow because, for some inexplicable reason, feeding people today doesn't mean they won't be hungry again tomorrow.

Work out. Build muscle. Lose fat. Get your steps in. Do your cardio. Stretch. Sleep eight hours. Meditate. Journal. Practice gratitude. Regulate your nervous system. And whatever you do, don't get stressed.

Oh, and go to work. Full-time, preferably. Someone has to pay for this entire operation.

Get married by the right age. Have children before it's too late. Raise smart, confident, well-adjusted children. Give them every possible opportunity. Sign them up for sports, music, swimming, dance, tutoring, summer camps, and whatever other activities the other parents are signing their children up for because God forbid your child misses an opportunity to become exceptional.

Arrange playdates, accept ALL birthday invitations, buy the birthday presents, drive everyone everywhere, pick everyone up, remember the school events, volunteer when possible, and of course, be a fully present parent.

Then come home, cook a nutritious homemade dinner, NOT takeout, help with homework, listen attentively to everyone's problems, get everyone ready for tomorrow, prepare the school lunches, and make sure everyone gets to bed on time.

And remember, QUALITY TIME.

Make time for your significant other. Keep the romance alive. Have regular date nights. Communicate. Be supportive. Keep the marriage exciting. And if you're no longer happy, well, you did promise to stay until death did you part. Nobody said anything about being happy.

Maintain your friendships. Remember birthdays. Return phone calls. Respond to messages. Be a good daughter, son, sister, brother, friend, neighbour, and preferably an interesting person to be around.

Get a dog. Walk the dog. Feed the dog. Groom the dog. Take the dog to the vet. Find someone to watch the dog when you travel. And no, the dog doesn't care that you've already gotten your 10,000 steps.

And now that you're doing so well, perhaps it's time to upgrade to a bigger house. More bedrooms, more bathrooms, a bigger kitchen, more space to furnish, decorate, clean, organize and maintain.

A beautiful garden would be lovely. Plant the flowers, water the flowers, weed the garden, prune the trees, mow the lawn. Or hire a gardener, which is wonderful because now you also have a gardener to find, schedule, pay and manage.

Travel every year. See the world. Make memories. Research the destinations, compare hotels, book flights, plan itineraries, arrange transportation, organize the children, find care for the dog, make sure someone waters the garden, and try to relax because THIS IS YOUR VACATION.

Come home to the laundry.

And through all of this, don't forget to take care of yourself.

You really should make more time for that.

Prioritize your well-being. Make time for things you enjoy. Find your passion. Have hobbies. Cultivate inner peace. Live in the moment. Be grateful for everything you have.

And for God's sake, MANAGE YOUR STRESS.

There. That's all.

Follow these simple instructions and congratulations.

YOU HAVE FIGURED OUT HOW TO BE A GOOD, SUCCESSFUL ADULT.

At what point did having a life become a full-time job maintaining one?

And how much of all that did you actually want?

Don't confuse the successful accumulation of life's desirable components with the successful experience of being alive.

We build enormous life infrastructure and then act surprised when maintaining it consumes us.

READ THAT AGAIN.

CONSUMES US.

Consumes our time. Our attention. Our energy. Our biological capacity.

And when maintaining that life consistently consumes more capacity than we have the opportunity to restore, our biological margin erodes.

That's how we end up in Perpetual Recovery Mode.

And eventually, something rather extraordinary happens.

We build a life filled with everything we were told we should want, and somewhere along the way, we lose our appetite for living it.

We lose our aliveness.

And then we call it getting old.

As if the number of birthdays we've celebrated explains why we no longer have the energy to participate in the very life we've spent decades building.

Chronological aging is real. But so is the physiological cost of carrying a life that has become far too heavy.

Those are not the same thing.

And this is why I think we need to become much more discerning about what we invite into our lives.

Before you add one more thing, understand that acquiring it is only the beginning.

Most of the commitment is in what it takes to keep it.

The cost isn't just money. It's the time, attention, energy and biological capacity required to sustain it, long after the excitement of acquiring it has worn off.

And unlike the purchase, the maintenance isn't a one-time event.

You pay it tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that.

So here's a question worth asking:

When you imagine having something, are you also imagining the everyday life required to maintain and sustain it?

Of course, you won't always know everything a choice will ask of you until you're actually living it.

Sometimes you discover the true cost years later.

Making a choice doesn't mean signing a lifetime contract with it.

You don't have to keep defending a decision simply because you made it, spent money on it, or invested years of your life in it.

That's the sunk cost trap. The investment is already gone. Continuing to invest doesn't bring it back.

Being responsible for your life is not the same as being obligated to preserve every decision you've ever made.

What if the life you've been praised for building is the very life that's consuming your capacity to enjoy being alive?

If you find yourself living a life that has lost its aliveness, I think you need to take that information very seriously.

Not by adding something else.

But by removing something.

Creative subtraction.

Begin asking what you can stop, simplify, renegotiate or leave altogether.

Be merciless with the assumption that everything you've added to your life must remain there forever.

You are allowed to change your mind.

You are allowed to discover that something you once wanted is no longer worth what it takes to maintain it.

You are allowed to stop carrying something simply because you've carried it for twenty years, thirty years, or sixty.

And you don't have to look backward and keep defending the architecture of a life that no longer fits you.

You can learn from the life you've built without spending the rest of your life preserving it unchanged.

Make room for your energy to return. For your agency. Your curiosity. Your appetite for life.

For your aliveness.

The life you live is not separate from your biology.

The responsibilities you carry, the demands you respond to, the commitments you maintain, the amount of agency you have over your time, and the opportunities your body has to recover are all part of the physiological environment in which your organism must function.

They influence your nervous system, your stress physiology, your metabolism, your sleep and your capacity to adapt.

You cannot separate the biochemical condition of a human body from the conditions under which that human body is required to live.

Your life is a biological input.