Let me kick off this blog with two recent Facebook posts from friends:

“Last night I was told in audition that ‘you are obviously a lovely actor, but are far too old for the part.’ The role was a 22 year old. I then went outside and took my allergy medicine so my nostrils would not close up. On my bike ride home, I was buzzed by these kids in a car and found myself yelling ‘HEY YOU KIDS’……when did I get so ancient?”

*and*

“I heard the phrase ‘powerhour,’ and had a nostalgic moment where I thought, ‘Gee, that would be so fun right now! WOO FRIDAY!’ But then I remembered I actually wanted to do things this weekend.”

The latter inspired 3 likes and five comments, among them:

• doing laundry and cleaning my house actually sounds more appealing than blacking out by 7pm tonight. being an adult is alright.

  Yesterday at 3:20pm · Like ·  1
• Love this. I want to go to my exercise class tomorrow at 8 am and don’t want to be hung over

  Yesterday at 5:27pm · Like
• I’m ordering pizza then drinking NyQuil this is how I know I’m grown….and sexy

  23 hours ago · Like ·  1

I’ve never identified with the term “quarter-life crisis.” 25 was a wonderful age—just far enough out of college to embrace your burgeoning career and the possibilities that lie ahead; just close enough to college to unabashedly play flip cup and feel perfectly fine that you’re still on the family phone plan. At 27, my life isn’t entirely different: I played flip cup in a backyard on St. Patrick’s Day, and, ahem, my parents still pay for my AT&T. I still have nights where I dance until 5am when I’m supposed to be up at 7, and I still shop at Forever 21. But I also am in a serious relationship and thinking, more often than I’d like to admit, about marriage. I spent three Saturday nights in a row watching movies on the couch. Last week, I found myself baby-talking to a dog who wouldn’t #2. Literally walking down the street crooning, “No poops for Penny?” Then again, I spent Wednesday night in Bridgeport nearly blacking out on whiskey and devouring meat pies on a bar stool. It’s like a generational spin on the Almond Joy vs. Mounds jingle: Sometimes you feel like an adult; sometimes you don’t.

I don’t think these feelings are unique to my generation. But as the first generation to be entrenched in social media at this turning point, the way we share our feelings about being “adult” and “lame” and “old” makes for a unique social catalog of an age-old coming-of-age. The part of us that wants to drop everything and do a power hour needs the support that comes with publicly announcing our decision to be “grown-ups” instead. Even if that support is just someone clicking “like” from their phone as they head out to the bar.

Speaking of phones…seriously…is it time to get off the family plan?