A Quarter Life Crisis

I think I’m having a quarter life crisis.

I know what you might be thinking. “Wow! That sounds all sorts of intense and dramatic! What sort sensational and traumatic thing could cause such an existential crisis?” And the answer is: nothing. Literally nothing.

It’s not that nothing happened. A lot of little things happened. When I looked at all of the closest people in my life, there was a lot to celebrate. A friend got a sweet gig at Amazon. A got a sweet gig at Apple. A friend got promoted into management at her non-profit. A friend got matched for residency. A friend started med school. A friend got into med school. Another friend got into med school. A friend got into med school and got engaged. My brother got married. My brother turned thirty. My brother finished a post-doc researching fuel cells for the army. Yes, these are all the same brother. The other one? Moved to Miami for a job in banking that he really seems to like and enjoys international travel with his girlfriend of almost a decade. Thanks for setting our parents’ expectations low, guys.

Meanwhile, I’m working movies through retail supply chains, developing a recreational happy hour habit, and serial dating a handful of the cities’ yuppies. I honestly think my biggest life accomplishment or societal contribution over the past year is renewing my car registration (three months late and after two tickets).

So as all my friends started taking their “next big steps,” I started thinking about mine. And that’s when the nothingness set in. I don’t have a clue. Other than a career with some serious power and influence that generates some sort of positive output into the world and a graduate degree in something at some point, I’m not super sure what I want out of life.

To me, it reminds me a lot of my move to Minneapolis. Open up your closets and re-evaluate every last thing you’ve amassed over the past twenty two years. Except instead of stuff, it’s my life. And this time I don’t get to know where the destination is that lies ahead.

Some people might see this as some sort of fun adventure. The possibilities are endless. And then there are people like me, the type A, high strung, and endearingly neurotic. And instead of feeling a rush of adventure, I experience a full-fledged panic attack.

I’m really, really good at following a plan. I’ve ha d a lot of practice. From the time I was a kid, Monday nights were practices for my competitive dance team, while Wednesdays were for ballet and technique. Tuesdays and Thursdays alternated between soccer and swimming, depending on the season. Fridays were for sleepovers and the rest of the weekend revolved around meetings for my Odyssey of the Mind engineering team and fulfilling my assigned viola practice hours before the next week’s orchestra class. I kept busy and ate my fair share of dinners in the backseat of a mini-van (which, to my mother’s credit, were a lot more nutritious and creative than they sound). This pattern continued right on up through high school to cultivate a strong, well rounded college application. And even right on through undergrad, the path for success was pretty obvious. Get good grades, get involved, be a leader, volunteer, and do some research. Check, check, check, and check. While the critical life choices have been few and far between, they’ve never been easy. Decisions around colleges, majors, and entry level jobs all followed the same process: build a giant spreadsheet of options, get overwhelmed, procrastinate, cry, go with the most familiar option, and question your decision for the next two to three years.

So after 17 years following the highly structured and regimented formal education system, I find that I’m actually kind of ill-prepared to some of the most important adult things: creating your own definition of success, ascertaining your values and boundaries, and drafting up your own action plan to make it come to fruition. And while dabbling in a bit of everything helps pad your college application, “well rounded” doesn’t make for a very great life direction; it’ll only lead you in circles. Well, shit.

So why am I writing about this on the internet? Because I’ve always been more committed as a blogger than as a journaler, obviously. And the more I’ve reached out and talked to friends over the past week or so, the more normal I realize this is. We might put up pictures of our city apartments, patio happy hours, and weekend getaways, but a lot of us feel like we’re in the ugly, awkward middle school stage of real life. And we all hope it only lasts three years, max. I think we do too much to pretty-up and perfect our existence in an effort to self-soothe.

And I should add, I get that this could come across a little whiny. In my extensive Google-searching any and all solutions for a QLC, I came across this really great piece from Humans of New York:

 

"I think we’re both going through a quarter-life crisis right now."
"What does that mean?"
"Well, so much of your energy in college, and immediately afterwards, goes into finding that first job. Then you finally get a job, and you get settled in, and you get past that initial hump of excitement. Then you start to ask yourself some big questions.”
"What kind of questions?"
"Things like: Is my work getting recognized? Is this job leading me toward my larger goals in life? Do I have balance?"

And it was one of those really great moments where I’m like “Ah, yes, that’s exactly it; they get it.” And then I scrolled to the comments section, full of #FirstWorldProblems lamentations. In a sense, I agree; I’m lucky. I don’t think you can have an existential crisis when you’re worried about making rent for the month, stressed about crushing college debt, or constantly trying to juggle the demands of work and family. I’m at a really unique time in my life where I have both the time and the resources to dream big and take risks, and I’m grateful for it. If big and influential and positive and powerful are in my long term goals, I’m both well-equipped and ill-prepared to make it happen. It’s that paradoxical combination that rouses a combination of hopeful possibilities, overwhelming possibilities, chaotic ambition, crippling anxiety, bewildered excitement, and paralyzing fear all at the same time. Here we go.