When I woke up yesterday and got ready for work, I had the passing thought that this year I was going to be an Adult for Halloween. In my “dry clean only” pants, sensible black flats, and festive orange shirt (which had to be offset with a turquoise necklace to avoid feeling like a jack-o-lantern) with a tote slung over my shoulder filled with Metro reading material, I felt very much the part of the Adult. After work, I waited at home patiently for the trick-or-treaters who never appeared, did some laundry, and then met up with my boyfriend for a quiet dinner surrounded by costumed revelers.

Most days–at the ripe old age of 25–I still feel very much like a pretender in the adult, professional world. I have so much still to learn, so much still to do and see. I don’t feel in the least bit “settled down” nor do I feel as if I’m ever looking back on a distant youth. I still feel very much like I’m in the middle of my youth. I marvel that someone is willing to pay me a salary, that I have a 401K, that I can plan and take vacations on my own, and that (for the most part) I successfully manage to support myself independently from day to day.

At the risk of sounding like a Carrie voiceover on Sex in the City: When does the sense of pretending stop and the sense of belonging begin? Does it come with marriage or parenthood? Does it result from living on your own without the company of roommates?

This January, I’m going back to school. I imagine that will continue to ward off impending adulthood for a few more years. I’m still getting a handle on the business of domesticity and fiscal responsibility. I often feel as if I live on the cusp of something, but I’ve not yet managed to take the plunge.

Maybe someday for Halloween I will be pretending to be younger, but for now I’ll keep putting on my adult costume every morning.