Late for Life?

How to Talk to Twenty-Somethings

My Dear Lovelians and Lifers,

I think Taylor Swift nailed her description of what the twenties are like in her song “22”. It’s “miserable and magical” alright. After graduating college, the time has now come to fully step into the world with all the knowledge and experiences that have brought us this far. With so many options to choose from, one might think this step is the easiest, right? Or at least the most fun. I mean, with a university degree under our belts the world is our oyster. We can do anything!... except for the fact that everything costs more money than we can afford and requires at least 3 years of experience we don’t have. All the while, nearly every conversation I have with older adults somehow ends up circulating the topics of marriage and career. I know they mean well and are just trying to make small talk, but it typically only adds to the pressure that I should be anywhere else but where I am now. I should have a year of marriage under my belt and expecting my first child; I should have a stable job set up that allows me to start living the young adult dream life of styling my apartment, travelling, and buying two cats and maybe a goldfish all the while Instagramming my crazy, yet somehow perfectly aesthetic life. I do not mean to insinuate that any of these things are wrong. Quite the contrary actually. With so many of my peers who from all outward appearances have achieved one or more of these things, the little child dreamer in me cannot help but cry out am I late for Life? Did I fall behind, or worse, miss it altogether?

*Breathing heavily*

Then Sanity plops down next to me with a cocked head and pinched eyebrows and asks What’s the rush? I look at her, then back down at my makeshift desk. Responding with “Everyone else is there except me” sounds immature even in my head, so I say nothing.

Sanity grins at me. You know it’s okay to plan past your 25th birthday, right?

A vision of me welcoming my sisters into a place all my own flashes through my mind. Maybe there’s a ring on my hand; maybe there isn’t.

Maybe you should unpack these now? She reaches for the closest stack of moving boxes and lifts the battered lid. My red spiral writing notebook slides sideways; the black pen rolls to the carpet.

My heart squeezes and I put out my hand, resting it on the red spiral and pressing the box lid back down. I’ll get to them eventually.

It’s been two weeks, she presses, I know you don’t want to look at them anymore----

----I know, I snap. I know I need to unpack. I know I need what’s inside the boxes I had turned into a desk. I know organizing a living space is one of my favorite activities, so I should be enjoying this part of moving. I know. I know. I know. I also know the thought of unpacking my things and getting situated into my parent’s house again makes me want to cry.

What’s so wrong with where you are now? Sanity asks.

It’s not where I’m supposed to be, I counter.

Says who?

Everything! Says the lives of my peers, the insinuating questions of older adults… my own dreams. I don’t want to unpack the boxes because unpacking the boxes means getting situated. And getting situated means staying. I wince at how harsh the words sound because the truth is I don’t detest living with my family. I have loved living with them. This past month working a state away and lodging with another family while I waited for them to catch up has been one of the hardest for me. Their absence left too many bullet holes in my heart, so my feelings are definitely not related to them personally. I just see a very different present; one I am ready to step into. I want this present so badly, living out of boxes until I can afford this dream doesn’t sound so unrealistic. I also know I don’t want just any job simply because it’s well-paying. You see the predicament?

Sanity leans close. Where are your feet? She whispers. Don’t you think there’s a reason you’re still here? You aren’t late for anything, and I think you know that.

The funny thing about being in my twenties is I find myself having more and more, albeit brief, conversations with my own sanity. I don’t necessarily recommend talking to yourself, but telling yourself true things is incredibly healthy. I’ll have little freak-outs then she’ll whisper truth to me I already know but just needed to be reminded of. Me not being late for life is just one. I think I need to write this out in Sharpe on my bathroom mirror or something. I’m not tardy for my destiny or anything so dramatic as that. I’m not anything really. Just…here. I am here. Here is good when I pay attention and look for moments to live better----this includes enjoying a good book on a rainy Saturday. Here only becomes bad when I lose interest in life and moving forwards. This does not mean I have to be full steam ahead all the time. I feel like this has been me for the past few weeks. It is unpleasant to say the least.

Some other true things I whisper to myself include: It’s okay to admit you’re flying by the seat of your pants and don’t have it all together, dear; others might look like they do or have gotten to the point where they can laugh about it, but no one has ever lived life twice--through ---- Love being in your twenties, darling; it’s a season like any other ---- embrace the misery and the magic ---- There will always be someone who disapproves of the way you live life; live it the way you believe you were meant to unapologetically ---- Make embarrassing mistakes, lovely; it’s okay to learn as you go along (psst…that’s what grace is for).

So how does this relate to conversation? Well, it always helps me to know a little about where a person is coming from. While I am aware that I am only one person in their twenties, I don’t think I am too far off the mark of how other people my age think and feel. How does one talk to twenty--somethings? Don’t tell us what to do or hint at where you believe we should be. Encourage us to keep trying because life is worth it. Remember this quote from the Marvel movie Shang-Chi ---- “Aim at nothing; hit nothing.” Whatever you do, don’t stop trying! Even if you change your mind twice in two weeks. Keep aiming, friends, because having a goal in mind makes the boring, bill-paying job worth it in the long run. Try twelve things and fail at nine of them. Try try try. Aim aim aim. Shoot shoot shoot. It is fun. It is exciting. I mean, it’s not a lifestyle I recommend long--term, but enjoy it while the season remains before discovering the one that suites your needs and desires the best. No more dabbling. Dabbling is for school. Try, and give it everything you got.

Stay Curious,

Olivia

P.S. I put together a playlist, some recently acquired, of some of the songs I find myself listening to that make me feel good, including but not limited to:

“22” by Taylor Swift

“Learning to Fly” cover by Hills x Hills

“Dreamer” by LaPeer

“Be Kind to Yourself” by Andrew Peterson

“Older” by Alec Benjamin

“Age of Worry” by Madison Cunningham

“Wetsuit” by the Vaccines

“Sword from the Stone – Gingerbread Mix” by Passenger

“This is Why I Need You” by Jesse Ruben

“Young” by Parachute

“Loving Rich” by Brandon Lake

“Go Your Own Way” cover by Lissie

“September” cover by Campsite Dream

“Barefoot Blue Jean Night” by Jake Owen

“Incomplete” by James Bay

“You Feel Like Home” by Hills x Hills

…to name a few. Now dance. Or drive as fast as you can (legally please) with the windows down.