A Quarter-Life Crisis

I’m having a quarter-life crisis. It’s a real thing (I think), and it’s becoming increasingly more relevant in our society as the stages of development continue to evolve—the stage of life between 18 and 25ish is now being called “arrested adulthood” or “emerging adulthood,” just to name a couple of theories. Children no longer leave home at 18 to find a job and start a family. Instead, after graduating high school, “pre-adults” (which is a stage that actually lasts longer, until 30 or so, according Kay Hymowitx) struggle with extended periods of schooling, relationships that have become convoluted because of technology, and an economy that makes it difficult to get started and find a path out of debt. Now we start our adult lives in our mid-to-late twenties, already cynical and disillusioned with the process. By the time we find a partner and a job, we immediately begin questioning if we’ve made the right choices. We ask ourselves if we wasted the last four (or seven or more) years of our live cornering ourselves into a specific career for which we have little passion. Surely there is some larger purpose, right?

I’ve spent my time since high school furthering my education (with a couple of small breaks along the way). I’ll turn 27 in March. What do I have to show for the last almost nine years? BA and MLA degrees in English, a wonderful wife, a below-average amount of student loans (let’s not count my wife’s loans for medical school…yet), and a string of short-term jobs (stock boy, sports writer, freelance writer, factory temp, metal grinder, graduate assistant, adjunct instructor, copyeditor, and museum registrar—this doesn’t even take into consideration other things I’ve done for small amounts of money to survive) to get me from one year to the next.

Now what? Call me selfish, but I’m not ready to have children. (My wife and I are getting a puppy in a couple of weeks, which will be life-changing enough for us. We’re used to complete silence and peace at home.) I still have things I want to accomplish—yes, I know having a child doesn’t destroy all your hopes and dreams. I just feel like I will have let my child down if this is all I have accomplished in my life to this point. I’m not complaining about my life: I own an iPhone 5 and a PS3 I couldn’t be blessed with better family or friends, I’ve never suffered any sort of tragedy, and I have no major disadvantage in life. Heck, I won the citizenship award my senior year of high school—my momma says that’s all that matters (clearly supposed to be read in your best Forrest Gump voice). This crisis is about me and what I’ve done with my opportunities to this point.

I’ve lived a pretty average life. In many ways, I am content with my run-of-the-mill existence. But that’s the problem: I’ve embraced mediocrity.

I should working furiously to finish the collection of short stories I’ve been working on, to write the novel I’ve been envisioning for the last six months, to write the TV pilot that I keep bothering a friend about, and to start my proposed online journal (which is under construction, but it needs a lot of work, if you’re good at things like that). Yes, I have the rest of my life to do these things—a good forty years if nothing unexpected happens. However, I never thought that this is where I would be at 26. Still trying to talk myself into things. I have gray hairs in my beard, the hair on my head isn’t as thick or curly as it used to be, and even though I weigh almost exactly what I did when I graduated high school, my body doesn’t always cooperate like it used to. I have just been going through the motions.

Look, I hear ya, parents and in-laws: It’s time to stop dreaming and get a full-time job with benefits. I’m not opposed to working or growing up. (Although, admittedly, I struggle with conventional 8-5 type jobs—the majority of jobs I’ve had included flexible schedules.) I know getting a real job doesn’t stop me from fulfilling my dreams… I just don’t want to another nine years to pass and wonder why I haven’t taken advantage of the time I’ve been given, wonder if I’ll ever find a job with my talents, wonder if I should have studied something more practical than English (which sounds dumb, because nothing is more practical than learning to speak and write, but most people don’t see it that way), wonder if I’ll ever do anything of worth. I will sacrifice a piddling full-time job if I must to answer these questions.

I despise New Year’s resolutions and our culture’s obsession with the notion that positive thinking eventually leads to results. I’m not excited about the new year as some magical coming-to-my-senses event that will help me take advantage of my time unlike the previous 26 years, and I’m certainly not telling myself that I will accomplish my goals next year if I just believe . I’m annoyed that I didn’t accomplish more this year and I’m more pessimistic than ever about accomplishing my goals, but I’m not giving up yet. I plan to attack the rest of December and the new year with fervor. If I don’t do it now, I never will.