At what point does the quarterlife crisis kick in?
I expect it to sneak up on me in the library, tap me on the shoulder, and say, "Hey, you're 20 years old now. You've done relatively little with your life. Oh, and you're most likely going to die within the next 60 years." Ms. Quarterlife Crisis would look a lot like my high school calculus teacher. She might hold up my TI-87 to find the word "Boobies" written across the screen.
When that happens, I'll most likely snatch my calculator back and say, "Thank you, have a nice day," and then keep trying to log into ISIS.
I turned 20 years old last Friday, and to tell you the truth, I'm not having a panic attack about it.
Yet.
I remain wary. Crises about age are in my genes. My Dad has been having a perpetual midlife crisis since 1990 when he turned the big 4-0.
It went through several incarnations. There was the campaign to regrow his hair, the campaign to win tennis tournaments, the campaign to read books, the campaign to get in shape and the campaign to live vicariously through me.
The first campaign resulted in the purchase of an inky black solution that my mother insisted smelled like camel pee, which my father would apply nightly to his scalp. The final campaign resulted in me getting a sports car last year. No complaints.
In the interim, there were experiments with exercise regimens, diets and schemes to make money on the side.
The quarterlife crisis is a new phenomenon, and yet somehow we're all supposedly doomed to suffer it.
We, the first generation of Internet drones, raised by Nicktoons and a disgustingly mainstream MTV. The rock-solid leaders of the world into which we were born are dying all around us.
Pope John Paul, Ronald Reagan, Johnny Cochran.
Is the clock ticking for us, too? As you sit in the library wasting away your pathetic existence reading Sartre, shouldn't you be panicking about the inescapability of your own mortality? Shouldn't you be living it up, falling in love, breathing the fresh air?
Playing flip cup?
After all, everyone says, "College is the best four years of your life," and, "After 21, it's all downhill," and, "My God, A-J, you're a comparative literature major, how are you going to make a living or have a career or wife and you're going to lose your hair and be short forever and probably scrawny too, so you better grab a girl quick and hold, hold, hold on."
You should be taking Propecia already.Doctors say it is much more effective if you start taking it before hair starts falling out.
Start using cold cream now to prevent early onset of wrinkles.
And for God's sake, stock up on Viagra, because studies are saying creepy things about men who leave their cell phones in their pockets. So you better respond to one of those 17 e-mails in your inbox offering genuine prescriptions before the imminent and massive shortage that expert economists are predicting will occur in 2053.
I start to wonder if maybe subconsciously, I am having a crisis.
I mean, I did go running twice last week for what felt like the first time since 1998. I felt in shape for about two days, but then discovered a blood blister that covered the entirety of my big toe.
Now, instead of running in the morning, I've gone back to watching CNN and complaining about my blood blister while I eat Cheerios.
Am I depressed? Panicking about health? Am I worried about the nature of my pathetic existence? Does every decision I make about classes and my summer have implications for my future, my heart rate, my soul?
What if the two best decades of my existence are behind me?
No, I think I realized (possibly wearing aviators and a cowboy hat with a pink flower on it, holding a box of wine above my head) that things are only getting better.
Mostly because I am going to live for 137 years.
But even if I don't, I know that there is no way that the road somehow reaches its peak at 20 or 21 or 22 years old -- that somehow there is a constant downward slope that leads directly to the nursing home and then the grave.
Quarterlife crisis?
This is a time to celebrate two decades of successes, failures, victories, losses, love and hate. It's the end of teenage mood swings, and the beginning of twentysomething mood swings. It's the halfway mark in college, but it's by no means the de facto best time in one's life.
There are so many things to look forward to, and so many things that are going on right now. Why stress about them? Why fight the clock?
We're all going to make a mark on someone's life whether we live two decades or seven (again, I will live seven, undoubtedly). And frankly, I'm looking forward to a job, a comfortable cardboard box on the streets of Paris and a wife who will just have to put up with me when I come home with a quick cure for baldness.
Here's to all of our first two decades, when we first realize what's out there in the world.
And here's to 12 more.
A-J can be reached at aronstein@cavalierdaily.com.
Read More
Students brave the cold for a whirlwind sorority rush
By Mia Tan | YesterdayStudents recount a mix of emotions from rush, with some disappointed after dropping from the recruitment process and others ecstatic to join Greek life.
Top 10 ways to avoid burnout this semester
By Sam Saks | 2 days agoAs you settle into this semester, try implementing these 10 tactics to take care of yourself and wave goodbye to burnout.
Top 10 things I learned the day TikTok went dark
By Elizabeth Parsons | 4 days agoI am poised to bestow newfound pieces of wisdom from my short-lived TikTok detox.
