Is it okay to hate being young? Or at least, not to enjoy every second of it? I’m not so sure I’ll be the one in twenty years telling the young-ins that they better enjoy being young. I hope that I am not so removed from reality that I forget what it is actually like to be young, dumb, and broke (and no, I did not try and rip off Khalid there—it was just too perfect not to).
I don’t want to jump on the bandwagon and join the cohort of GenZ influencers that claim that the price of groceries in 2024 is the worst thing to happen to a generation. Most of the time, it's hard to empathize with those characters, as most of them have eyelash extensions, fresh manicures, or are filming their complaints on their latest iPhone. I will never discredit someone’s feelings, as I am a full believer that a broken leg is still a broken leg despite being on a different body. However, a broken leg on a ballerina is a career ending injury, while a broken leg on an accountant is an inconvenience.
Sure it sucks having to dig for change for a loaf of bread nowadays, but I remember eating ramen noodles everyday for a summer, back in 2008, because of the recession. Comparatively, my great-uncle lived through the Great Depression with polio—I’d say I’m doing pretty good, all things considered. Still, I’m not going to dismiss the whole onslaught of twenty-somethings that feel like the world is collapsing around them, because five out of seven days in the week, I also feel that way.
I think it is completely valid for young people nowadays to feel at odds with the world. Media makes it seem like we are on the brink of WWIII, that everyone is getting drafted to fight, and that an economic collapse is inevitable. I’m not a fortune teller, but my gut says that those fears of social upheaval may be a bit exaggerated to just gain views. Does that discredit the rising mental health crisis in America? Of course not. Does that dismiss the validity of fears that young people are acknowledging? Again, no. However, I think we are missing the nuance of these conversations, in that, many of the outspoken young people today may not be taking into consideration that life is never going to be easy, and we might as well ‘bear our cross,’ so to speak, and trudge forward the best we can.
With that said, I’ve never felt so seen until I watched Taylor Tomlinson: Quarter-Life Crisis a few years ago. Tomlinson was real for saying that your twenties is just a confusing whirlwind of ‘I don’t know what I’m doing,’ ‘I’m broke,’ ‘Why am I sad,’ and ‘Everyone thinks I suck.’ Perhaps those statements are me projecting, but I still think that it sums up a quarter-life crisis pretty well. Truth is, I think quarter-life crises are just moments of imposter syndrome in disguise. In 2024 imposter syndrome is exasperated as social media allows windows into each other's lives. There is no hiding. And as we perceive others having what is shown to be idyllic versions of life, of course we are going to compare and try to replicate. Often to our detriment. I compare myself to others all the time. I feel inferior to most people, most days, to the point it's a wonder how I get anything done in a day. Even when comparing myself to my parents, I often feel lacking in some regard. Though I’ve achieved things no one in my family has (a four-year degree) it seems like a drop in the ocean.
It’s wild to think about my father’s twenties, as he was already driving truck full time and taking care of two elderly parents WHILE also tending to the family farm. By my age, he already lost his mother and his close friend. His uncle drowned while fishing. He was at the perceptual age of a young man in which he was expected to protect and provide. I can say that with certainty by an anecdote my mother shared with me once: she woke up to my dad hanging out a window by the waist—with a 22’ in hand, resting on his shoulder—and my grandfather at his back with a flashlight yelling “I see them by the fence line, Ricky!” Coyotes were a nuisance during calving season on the farm, as they sought out the afterbirth left in the fields; a good farmer wouldn’t let those creatures near vulnerable calves. So my father and grandfather were always on twenty-four-seven patrol, shooting down hungry coyotes to protect the herd, their livelihood. I describe all this to illustrate how minimal my life problems are compared with my father’s—when he was my age, at least. Though my annoyance at the rising prices of iced coffee is valid, and the dead-ends I hit with each turn of my post-grad job-search are a reality, I am fortunate that those are my biggest problems.
The truth is, I make rent every month (because I live with three roommates in one of the cheapest apartment buildings in East Lansing) and I thank my lucky stars that I am allowed the privilege of living just a bike ride from the nearest coffee shop. No amount of political or economic insecurities will prevent me from appreciating sunrises or the smell of wet grass in the springtime. I get to watch geese, across from the gym parking lot, pick at worms popping up from the earth. In a few weeks, we’ll start seeing mama geese with their babies. Though these things don’t fill my wallet, nor do they afford me full weekends of clubbing and concerts, some ethereal higher power will allow me these moments of peace. I like to think that even Sisyphus was able to appreciate the views from his daily climb up Tartarus.
So, though I empathize with my peers in their disappointment with life, I would equally challenge them to be disappointed, but revel in the privilege of being disappointed. Appreciate the struggle, and acknowledge that life is hard. By looking back to our forebears, we can say that life won’t ever become peaches and cream, or rainbows and unicorns. And that is what makes life what it is. That is what makes your twenties suck. For now on, let's say our twenties suck, but let's do so with a laugh, a smile, and an appreciation that we have full bellies and full hearts.
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