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It could happen on a random Tuesday. You’ve got a problem and need the kind of expertise that can only come from a trusted, all-knowing earth veteran who has seen more things, knows more things, and can definitely spot solutions your younger brain cannot. So you consult your parental figures and cry, HELP MEEE! WhAt dO I dO iN tHiS sItUaTiOn?!?! But this time their response lands as what it actually is: advice. Not fact. Not the absolutely correct path that guarantees the outcome you want. And suddenly it hits your twentysomething self that no one, not even your parents, is working from a master blueprint. Adults were never omniscient. They have just been here longer. 😅

Headphones in. Sentimental tunes on. Volume up. Suddenly, you are slow-strutting down the sidewalk like you are starring in an indie coming-of-age film about heartbreak and resilience. Who does not love a good main-character walk?

I am extremely susceptible to nostalgia, especially the musical kind. All it takes is one dramatic bridge, and I am mentally time-traveling, replaying memories like a hyper-emotional music video. Music has a sneaky way of reopening doors you thought were closed and putting old feelings right back at the front of your mind.

At some point, I realized the music I play basically controls my mood. One sad throwback can derail an otherwise normal Tuesday. But the opposite is also true. The right song can instantly flip the vibe. One minute you are gloomy, the next you are singing at the top of your lungs and feeling weirdly unstoppable. That is when you realize music is less of a soundtrack and more of a tool.

You thought Seasonal Affective Disorder was dramatic. Turns out you actually deteriorate without sunlight. As someone from the Midwest, I get it. In January and February, you just keep your head down and survive until warmer days show up. In high school, I thought I was depressed, but honestly, I was just indoors too much. You also realize water fixes an alarming number of problems. Headache, tired, irritable, and bad skin. Drink water. It’s annoyingly effective. Food helps too. Seeing meals as fuel was a clear sign my frontal lobe finally clocked in because if I don’t eat regularly, my mood photosynthesizes into rage. Turns out I’m not emotionally unstable, I’m just hangry. Eventually, you realize people are kind of like plants. The same person in a different city or friend group can have a completely different outcome. Sometimes you just need better soil. After a chaotic night and a questionable amount of sleep, you wake up, look at the plant by your window, and think wow, maybe we actually have a lot in common. 🌱

It hits randomly. Folding laundry, grocery shopping, doomscrolling LinkedIn, forcing yourself to “network.” There’s no warning, but when it lands, you know. Suddenly, you’re spiraling into the big questions. What is the meaning of life? What is my purpose? What am I even doing next month, let alone next year? It’s a full crisis.

You complain that it’s too early for this. Isn’t this supposed to happen in your 50s? Isn’t that literally why it’s called a midlife crisis?

Eventually, you accept there’s no timeline, no gold stars, no magical life map. Technically, you could do anything. Unfortunately, the prospect of anything is deeply overwhelming. So you join a running club and sign up for a half-marathon. You buy yarn and start knitting hats for your friends. You move to a random country and end up working on a farm while dodging calls from home because you have no idea how to explain what you’re doing or where you’re going.

Late Saturday afternoon, your girlfriends call and beg you to get off the couch and rally for a big night out. They swear this is the night. Yes, they said that last night too, but apparently tonight is actually the night. You groan, invent excuses, and stare into the dark abyss of your closet because putting on makeup and finding something to wear feels impossible. You spent the morning in a near-comatose state thanks to Friday night chaos, and the thought of waking up Sunday the same way makes you sick. Yet somehow, you rally.

I used to be ruled by the seductively irritating pull of Fear Of Missing Out. FOMO could override every ache in my body and every ounce of anxiety from the night before. But one beautiful morning, I woke up after ten hours of sleep, drank my coffee, went for a run, and showed up to brunch feeling like a hundred bucks.

One day, you decided to try those so-called “boundaries” people who seem more emotionally evolved keep talking about. Suddenly, “protecting your peace” turns into full lifestyle mode, and now it’s 8 p.m. on a Friday, you’re in bed, Netflix is on, and your phone is suspiciously silent. Some people call it antisocial. You call it honoring your inner life and declining what troubles your soul. 📱🛋️

Up to a certain point in your twenties, life is basically a checklist. Your schedule follows a syllabus; good work earns you a shiny A+; if you mess up, the obvious move is to lock in and try harder. Everyone your age is on the same path from middle school to high school to maybe college or trade school, with the classic small talk: "Where are you going to school?" What are you studying? What do you want to do? There is always a “next,” and it always feels like once you pass the next test or graduate, the next step will finally make you a fully competent adult who knows what they are doing.

At some point you stop chasing chaos and start craving a little domestic tranquility. You catch yourself comparing Dutch ovens, enjoying grocery shopping, and feeling weirdly proud of a meal cooked from scratch. You take “everything showers,” obsessively clean your apartment while procrastinating, and realize dresses are actually the most comfortable thing ever. You start to understand that fulfillment isn’t loud, aesthetic, or Instagram-worthy. Sometimes it’s a freshly vacuumed apartment, a sourdough starter you kept alive all week, or reorganizing your pantry on a quiet night in. It’s not laziness or shrinking your world. It’s your nervous system, finally being done cosplaying chaos.

If you’re a twentysomething-year-old, you probably don’t “have it together.” And if you do, well…let's talk in 10 years. Our 20s, I think, are the era of illusions falling away, of coming to terms with the world-shifting revelations, the mind-bogglingly fascinating realizations, and the unsolvable mysteries of human existence that we thought were set in stone, charted, and extensively traveled by those who have been on this planet longer than us.

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