how to deal with a quarter life crisis

In your 20s, I think it’s pretty safe to make the generalizing statement that no matter who you are, things are often overwhelmingly confusing, and stressful, and that there is a lot of needing to talk oneself down from the crazy ledge on an all too constant basis.

I know that I’m about as deep into it as I could possibly be at this point, and that while everyone’s experiences are different, it helps to share. My own experience has been something like this:

Graduate from college a year early. Look around. Realize that despite 18 years of school, you’re not really qualified to do anything. Take that back- decide that you can, in fact, do one hell of a body shot. Get your diploma. Stare at it. Laugh hysterically that your student loans have just bought you a $50,000 piece of paper and a 20-year future of increasing debt. Make your first student loan payment. Stop laughing. Make another payment the next month, and the month after that. Start crying.

Get year-round job offers. Turn them down for the chance to run a summer day camp. Pick up part-time jobs to make things manageable in between. Work annoying retail hours. Ask yourself why you’re living in one of the most expensive cities in the world when you don’t have a full-time job. Feel broke. Eat a lot of pasta. Continue to party too hard with all of your friends who are still in college. Let the year slip by. Watch them graduate.

Pick up and move to California for the summer, for camp. Work hard. Make money. Buy stuff. Work harder. Make more money. Buy more stuff. Stuff you don’t need. Return to NYC at the end of the summer. Move in with your boyfriend. Live there during the year, and in California during the summer. Love him. Make plans. Notice suddenly that for some reason, like everything else you try to plan, this no longer fits. Move to California full-time. Have failed rebound flings. Get more odd jobs. Feel horrible about yourself. Live in the suburbs. Remain relatively unhappy. Repeat.

Decide to go to graduate school. Apply. Get in. Change your mind. Decide to be a writer. Get too scared. Give up. Wake up one morning and realize that you’re 24 years old with no real savings account and an even more meager life plan. Cry. Flip out. Call your mom. Cry and flip out to your mom. Repeat.

Start comparing your life to your friends’ lives. Question absolutely everything. Wonder desperately about the paths you didn’t take. Feel inferior about not having a career you love, a man you love, a home you love, or friends you love who live within driving distance. Climb up very, very high on the crazy ledge. Lose a friend to suicide. Hang from the crazy ledge by two thumbs. Then one thumb.

Force yourself to snap the hell out of it. Sort of. Decide that a predetermined-cookie-cutter spot just simply doesn’t exist for you in this world. Feel anxiety, followed by enormous relief. Empower yourself to carve out your own niche. Commit to living life on your own terms. Evaluate what’s been holding you back. Make lists. Lists upon lists. Hundreds of lists. Finally quit camp. Give up your entire safety net. Temporarily move in with your parents in Arizona. Realize how badly you want to travel and write. Make up your mind to just fucking do it already. Stop making excuses. Start putting money and resources where your big, loud mouth is. Get scared. Talk it out with people who love you. Realize that despite your often bizarre, alternative lifestyle choices, there are a wonderfully heart breaking amount of people who love you. Commit to daily gratitude.

Stop comparing your life to every other life. Know that the best that you can do is the best that you can do. Compose a personal mission statement. Try to make one good decision after another. Stumble. Beat yourself up over your mistakes. Take pause. Vow to be nicer to yourself. Grasp desperately for perspective.

Continue the daily climb up and down the crazy ledge. Think that with all that climbing, you’d better have a damn fine ass by the time you turn 25.