(I know this is a bit of a lengthy post and not my normal subject, but it's something I wanted and needed to express to any fellow twenty-somethings.)
Dear Confused Twenty-Something:
(a frank confession)
I'm twenty-three
years old. It is neither an old age nor a very young age. I'm five
years out of high-school. I'm three years into my twenties. I'm
single, both maritally and relationship-wise. I'm busy all the time.
I've traveled three times in Europe on missions trips and around the
US in the occasional summer-camp or campaign brought about by
slightly-above-average political involvement. I've self-published two
novels and won a contest that published my version of “Cinderella.”
I've been published in a magazine. I've kept my sanity. I've kept my good humor. I've kept my common sense. I've kept my determination to never mess
with alcohol. Not because it's evil, but because I know that its
abuse blossoms in both branches of my family tree. I've become a
modern-day Mary Poppins. I've become a home-school teacher. I've
launched three blogs. I've shut down nearly as many. I've
road-tripped and missed flights and seen beautiful and wonderful
things I never expected I'd get to see. I've met fascinating people
and made friendships that don't make sense on paper. I've lived life
and I've missed sleep and I've skipped college and I've read great
books. I remember to check my oil and I have my own car. It even has
good tires.
I've done all
these things. In a lot ways, my young self would call me a success.
But I still don't
know what the heck I'm doing.
And I don't like
that. You know, I thought I would avoid the classic “mid-twenties”
crisis that all the romantic comedy leads encounter. I thought I
would surely avoid that shocking sense of being flung around the head
a couple times and let off like a sling-shot. I thought I would
surely avoid feeling as simultaneously full of potential and utterly
confused as a Lego set with the instruction booklet violently
shredded. Because I had a plan: I would continue writing and become a
novelist and get married by the age of twenty-two (if not sooner). I
would not be sitting in my girlhood bedroom with a cooling mug of tea
beside me, writing these words on my day off. I would probably have a
kid by now and certainly a husband, and I could walk into any Barnes
& Noble and pluck one of my own books off the New Release shelf.
That's not how it
worked, of course. I have that career, but it's different than I
expected. I'm doing it all – the housekeeping, the homeschooling,
the cooking, and caring-for – that I expected I would do. But I'm
doing it in someone else's home for someone else's children and I
make dinner most nights of the week for someone else's husband. I'm
writing, but it's not novels. It's a blog. It's letters. It's
flash-fiction and finely-worded tweets and a manuscript I keep
promising I will work on when I have time.
My life is both
the same and worlds-apart from what I thought it would be. And I
don't know. Is it good enough? Is it worthwhile? I have a fear of
wasting this one wild and precious life of mine doing things that
aren't what I'm meant to do. Maybe I worry too much about what I'm
meant to do. Most days I adore my life and the things I get to do. I
love the two little girls I take care of and my boss (their mother)
never ceases to make me laugh. I love my family. My friends are
fantastic. I have a safe home and earn plenty of money for small list
of things I need. It's a wonderful life.
But when I get
quiet and begin to listen to my heart, the confusion wells up. Is
this what my life should look like at this point? I've used up the
“grace-age.” I've used up the fumbling-around of the early
twenties given to kids graduating college and moving out and
launching into full-on careers. I'm a full-blooded woman now and it's
nothing like I thought it would be.
There's so much
more knowing.
There's so much
more not-knowing. Will I ever get married? Can I even write
a good novel? If I don't get married – and that's okay – what do
I devote myself to? Will I play Mary Poppins my whole adult life? If
not, then what will I do?
There are so many
more moments of, “What in the world is this?” than I
counted on. I've even surpassed my mother in terms of the number of
years I've lived without being at least engaged. In an ironic little
twist of events, I have sometime begun to feel that the expiration date of
even her (always accurate) experience of Single Life in The Twenties
is up. I've passed the deadline of my original plans and, seemingly,
everyone else's. I'm walking everyday in uncharted territory. I was
okay with a Plan B but I didn't realize Plan B would involve living
each day wondering toward what end I was working. I thought I'd have
a big goal. A big end-game. What I have is cold feet and a
heart that throws itself daily into the work before her, hoping its
enough.
Enough for what?
Enough for noticing. Enough for seeing a pattern. Enough for looking
back in twelve-months and being able to discern a theme. Any theme. I
wrote about it in my journal before the new year:
“My life is a
story. It has a plot (IT MUST). It is its own screenplay and suddenly
I've been thrust into the role of lead, cameras fixed on my
disconcerted face, and no one remembered to give me a copy of the
script. Have you ever tried lip-syncing to a song you don't know at a
church you've never been to when a tall, balding guy is blocking half
the words on the projector screen? You gape and pantomime just one
syllable behind the congregation and you begin to sweat under the
double pressure of knowing you look like an obvious idiot (to the
person whose mind wasn't on the worship), and the fact that to stop
now would be twice as awkward. Basically, I'm tripping over the
lyrics of life, singing along to a song I've never heard, feeling
like I should have an answer because I'm an intelligent young woman.
But guess what? I DON'T KNOW.”
You know what's
also confusing? Those twenty-somethings who seem to know their lines.
I look at them and think, HOW? They have a glittering career
or a new family or some huge mission burning such a hole through
their hearts that the soul-light pours out. I love those people. My
very best friend is one of them. These people inspire, challenge, and
thrill me. I love watching their stories unfold and being a part of
the grand hustle and sparkle of it all. To those of us who are
waiting, sent out of the safe harbor of adolescence but unsure to
what destination our cargo is due, I extend my empathy. It is
difficult to see our comrades sweep by with wind in their sails,
colors flying when we long so much to go. It's especially hard if
you, like I, have the energy, passion, and wherewithal to withstand
such a mission. When we want to go, to be, to do, and we can't figure
out where to go or who to be or what to do, it's difficult to not
wonder if we've done something wrong. Missed some chance. Turned down
some dead-end lane. Missed the last exit before a toll-bridge.
Forgotten our social security number while mid-form at a doctor's
office.
I'm so glad I
swore allegiance to Christ because it is His power that comforts me.
It is His unchangeable character that can balm my heart, bruised from
pushing and being pushed against by life and the confusion of it. I
know that my God is the God who specializes in taking daily
not-knowing and forming it to His plan. I signed on to do whatever He
requires of me and if that is walking in this haze for a season or
even several seasons, then I know that's
my work. Daily obedience. And it is good work because it is His work.
I've never doubted that. It's an immense comfort to me and something
I cling to, knowing that where truth and light is, darkness cannot
also be.
But I want to
comfort you, dear Confused Twenty-Something, that you're not alone.
If you feel like you have no idea what's going on, please realize
that more of us share that feeling than not. If you feel like you've
lost touch with whatever it is you thought you wanted to be, or if
all your plans have changed or if you're no longer certain, even, of
what it is you are doing, don't freak out. Because I have
freaked out and it changes nothing. I have also done my ground-work
and I think it's a safe guess that three out of five
twenty-somethings you talk to will identify with that promising and
directionless Lego set mentioned above. It's okay. It's actually okay
not to know. It's okay for life to be different than you thought it
would be your whole life. Those people who seem to have Googled the
lyrics to their life-song, I bet they're not always confident. I bet
even they have days where they don't know. Because no one is
omniscient.
Please enjoy
their life. Don't succumb to jealousy or
comparison. Support them. Encourage them. Glean wisdom from them and
ask how you can help them be even more fantastic.
Please enjoy
your life. Many of those put together people
will tell you they miss the days of untapped inspiration and
potential. Of not being sure what adventure life was taking them on.
Take risk and adventures and ask someone to have dinner with you out
of the blue.
Please do lots of things. Activity is a wonderful cure for confusion. If you can't determine the exactly perfect thing to do (and who can?) then you had much better be doing something.
Please don't
lose hope. Just because you can't see what's going on doesn't
mean that nothing is going on. Or that nothing will go
on.
Please don't
take it out on other people. It is no one's “fault” that you
feel confused or frustrated or out of the loop. Take time in this
unidentifiable stage to love the people with whom you come in
contact. Listen more than you talk. Ask questions. Pay for someone's
lunch. Give more hugs than are strictly necessary.
Please keep
dreaming. If you have a big goal, pursue it. If you have some
dream that requires a skill you don't have, pursue it. Learn that
skill. Take those classes. Go that way. Keep it up. And if your dream
shifts to another dream, wish the first one farewell and get to work
on the second.
And as always,
please remember that the survival rate for the twenty-somethings is
pretty high. I've heard that both males and females, by the age of
thirty, have escaped with their lives. Take a breath, lift your head,
and get going. I'm gonna stand by you.