I’m 25 right now and I have a work-in-progress hypothesis of what my 20s should be all about.
As a teenager a little less than a decade ago, I was always so excited for my 20s. I saw it as an era of unrestricted fun- exactly what was characterized by the outrageous storylines in blockbuster films. As benefits with being above the legal age to be considered an adult, renting a car, purchasing plane tickets, grabbing alcohol, making money, and living alone are easily obtainable minus any planning logistics.
And now being at exactly the midpoint of my 20s, I have come to realize that this period in time is exactly so. In all the predictable benefits of being an “adult,” there is yet the heaviness from actually being one. I have the freedom from the active thought of supporting children, the immediate prospect of natural health and energy decline that come with age, and the ingrained habits concretized over decades: the typical reasons that limit maneuverability later in life.
My 20s don’t need to follow a linear trajectory by these external circumstances. They can be dynamically step wise in any direction.
While this freedom is very liberating to think about, it is also, from my guess, exactly the source of the quarter life crisis that I hear too much about these days.
Ironically, in the freedom that is craved so deeply arise the very questions often deflected. The structural cannon defined by the predictable path of studying STEM, grinding for internships, and angling a professional career has fizzled and exploded me into the atmosphere of nothingness where the density of air is to be defined by my unique cocktail of identity, ego, eccentricity, curiosity, and biological makeup of dopamine, serotonin, and other difficult to pronounce neurotransmitters.
Pressing defined questions of “what’s on the calc 3 midterm?” and “how do I break into finance?” are replaced by ones that are more elusive.
What is the purpose of my life? How does an ideal life look like? When is enough enough? What do I want? Who do I want to be? Who do I want to be with?
For some, these questions may never be asked nor answered in the successful attempt to live a happy well to do life. For others, these questions may seem either very straightforward or too existential, angsty, and unreasonable to answer.
Unfortunately, I am not in either of these camps.
I can blame it on my only child upbringing or my love for introspection; whatever the reason, I am not ignorant towards life’s abstract queries and feel the pressure to answer them; I cannot help but bring those questions to the forefront of conscious deliberate consideration.
Yet, the aggressively type A trait that yielded me all my outsized returns so far in life is not the approach for these types of unguided questions. I cannot grip tighter, deep work more, and David Goggins my way to immediate answers. Furthermore, quick solutions are probably incorrect and spawn from my delusion and desire for completeness. Similar to better sleep, happiness, and love, in which the combination of deep desire and lack of possession results in unfounded and circular stress that makes obtainment more difficult and stressful, life’s grand questions should not be fretted upon.
Despite having a lack of evidence, I have an unreasonably optimistic belief that I will find my own set of correct answers and that everything will work out ok. And in this belief, I have the reprieve of letting go and letting loose a little bit. Even if it’s just some infinitesimally small relaxation of stress, this injects strictly positive enjoyment into actually living my 20s despite the face of greater uncertainty.
Drawing from the frame of finite vs infinite games where “a finite game is played for the purpose of winning, [and] an infinite game for the purpose off continuing the play” (James Carse), I see my 20s as formative puzzle pieces in the greater arc of my infinite-game life.
Though delightedly welcome, my 20s are not an era to get the answers for all the questions I may have- I have a whole lifetime to accumulate the wisdom from experiences, books, and people to do so. But my 20s is definitely the time to set up the lifestyle and the psychological dispositions to do so.
Unencumbered by greater responsibility, I have the flexibility to parlay my energy, good health, and youthful innocent ambition into a bedrock of severe financial stability, a respectable standing in society, and a safety net of quality friends and family. I also have the runway to relieve myself of all my more hedonistic pursuits and learn the unteachable lessons that can only be gained through experience.
Indulgences like a weekly cadence of eating at fine dining restaurants, excessive drinking on frequent nights out, and excessive purchases of lusted shoes from my sneaker head era have eliminated many materialistic cravings. The misaligned achievement of some money and status with fulfillment and happiness has ingrained the lesson of “money does not buy happiness.” Fraught relationships have taught me the importance of communication and finding the right partner where principles and logistics align.
The setbacks and costs to learn lessons are discounted in my 20s and rise in price over time. Likewise, the opportunity cost of not being wiser, more mature, and a more developed human being only increases.
In this regard, there is some urgency to make over-arching progress.
But what does progress look like for something so abstract? This is not school where performance is quantitatively measured at a deadline. I find that the outcome from the failure to define progress is best exemplified by the quote:
General ambition causes anxiety. Specific ambition gives direction.
For me, being unable to define progress fixes the sword of Damocles over my psyche- some lurking dread of wasting my precious youthful life away only to be pierced by regret in the future at some snap of realization. Specificity in operationalizing pursuit is required for me to alleviate the angst and the uncertainty behind big meaty ponders.
This brings me back to circa May 2022, when I was flown out for a weekend in Chicago by my impending first full time employer to meet the incoming class of similar fresh faced graduates and new employees. Being 22 at the time and still consumed with my party phase in senior year university, I was surveying interests from my soon-to-be co-workers for a night clubbing in the Windy City.
Among the people there, one person stuck out: a 27 year old Chicago native. When I approached him to survey his clubbing interests, he responded with a nonchalant smile: “honestly man, I’m just going to go home tonight and smoke a J with my wife.” And with that, he just walked away.
In life, there are a handful seemingly meaningless memories that you just remember forever, and this is one of mine. Being insecure at the time and using partying to fill a void of my identity that I can no longer satisfy with studying/recruiting, I remember looking on in awe, bewildered by how he can be so comfortable in his own skin, uninfluenced by the interests of others. He gave no second thought. He knew what he wanted to do and was going to do it.
Authenticity. Conviction. Agency.
How comfortable am I with myself? How convinced am I to pursue whatever it is I am to pursue? How much freedom do I have to act accordingly?
Those are the more traits I now seek to improve upon and that 27 year old (unbegntost to him) represents that symbol through deciding to smoke a J as spoken in a trivial passing sentence to a trivial question before a trivial night out.
Now, this measurement of progress by these traits towards hopefully answering my life’s big questions is not a purely selfish pursuit.
Even though I tend to overly index the current meaning I have on work, I am fully aware of my desire to raise a family and am quite excited to eventually do so in the coming decade. Perhaps this mental model has been fully psy-oped by my underlying evolutionary psychology wired towards reproduction, but my 20s also serve to develop my traits, wisdoms, and readiness in being the best husband and father I can be for my future family.
Family (and friends) undeniably makes up a large part of life.
But I assure you that my desire for a family is not just based on statistics, studies, and biology. Perhaps the most beautiful part of a family is how it seems to affect life experiences.
The highs are more euphoric when joy is not hoarded but spread. The lows are blunted when melancholy is not isolated but shared. The memories accumulated from little details such as the inside jokes, the banter while window shopping, and the close presence of another compound to be utterly invaluable. The fear in a cold world filled with cruelty, war, catastrophe, tragedy and death becomes more faceable.
And with the image of a future family adding more fuel to the ignition already set ablaze by my wanderlust and array of curiosities, my 20s feel much more meaningful.
Life feels a bit more hopeful.
And I feel a bit happier.
Nobody Yet
I do a podcast where I document a verbal journal of what I’m thinking about and experiencing every week. Kind of like a time capsule for future me to hear the idiotic younger version of myself.
You can find the podcast here (Spotify)
Here’s the latest episode with me talking about my current high levels of stress. Enjoy!