THE ROARING TWENTIES

The best or worst years

This finished piece is very different from how it started. In the beginning, the title was "Your Twenties: The Best or Worst Years." After some heavy contact with the backspace and deep thinking it's become something entirely different (and a lot more optimistic.) That's the amazing thing about your twenties: if you don't like the story being told, you can start a new one.

Currently standing at the halfway line at 25 years of age, I look back at my twenties so far, and two words come to mind: worrisome and worth it (okay, that's three, but you get it.) My decision to travel after graduation is one I do not regret for a second, but unfortunately, that fact hasn't granted me immunity from the sinking feeling I get every time I go on LinkedIn. I am blessed to be rich in life experiences, but it came at the cost of a step on the career ladder and a healthy savings account. 

Living through some of your best and worst years simultaneously is very confusing. Physically, I've been laying on a lounger in Greece on a random Tuesday, wondering how I'll afford to eat lunch while I'm sure some cushy business bloke in London stared out his office window wishing he was me. Life is funny like that. 

The plan was always to travel in some capacity after college, but then, after that, the schedule got murkier. As my seasonaire work was coming to a close, I was becoming increasingly aware that I had nothing to go home to and no money to set me up somewhere. It was a bleak state of affairs and really weighed on me. Part of me wished I was still at university so at least then I would have a life to return to. The blank slate "the real world" presented to me wasn't feeling as exciting as I had expected. 

It also didn't help that I was on a massive comedown from an almost year-long party. I had gone from mountain life to beach life, and both had sucked me dry of serotonin. I was physically, mentally, and financially drained, and now I had to try and sell myself to potential future employers. Word of advice: if you're looking for a pick-me-up, a job hunt is probably not where you'll find it. It was the biggest depression session I had ever been in. Not only was it proving impossible to secure a job, but it was nearly impossible to even find jobs. I was fragile, and the constant rejections were crushing me. 

In all honesty, I wasn't very used to hearing no. Before this, I had limited experience in the working world of journalism. I excelled at my degree; I was well-liked by lecturers, got good results, frequently led class projects, and finished with a first-class honours degree, so I figured surely those success levels would transfer to the real world. Turns out I was sorely mistaken. Discovering that hard work isn't everything was a slap in the face. It also goes to show just how naive I was. I had this fairytale image of me sailing into a dream job on the back of good grades, determination, and a plethora of random solo projects. And while this is the case for some, it's the exception, not the rule, and unfortunately, it just wasn't to be for me. 

Many tears were shed during this time, but a girl's got to eat, so I had to push my pride and aspirations aside and return to my old trusty accomplice: alcohol. Once again, my days consisted of pulling pints or drinking them. 

Eventually, after a few months of waitressing and bartending, I landed my first big-girl job. It wasn't exactly what I wanted, but it was a start and a turning point I felt could only bring good things. And I was right. It's introduced me to office work, challenged me in new ways when writing, provided me with an amazing work environment, friends, and so much more. But as my granny always says, "deireadh gach sceal an tairgead" - every story ends in money, and there, unfortunately wasn't a whole pile at the end of this rainbow. 

Once again, I was left disappointed by my own unrealistic fairytale-like expectations, and so began the apparent lifelong dance of comparing my salary to those around me. I chose a life of words, not numbers; I knew the industry I was getting into. Stereotypically, I'm meant to be the one eating cheap pizza in a dingy apartment, cramming for a story deadline, while my lawyer and accountant friends are putting their feet up in a penthouse apartment, booking a new trip somewhere exotic. I understood the obstacles ahead of me when choosing this profession, but I guess I held onto the idealistic version of how things could go more so than the realistic path laid before me.

As cathartic as this whole process has been, the real reason I've brought you here today is to say there is a light at the end of the tunnel, and it's not a salary increase, dream job, or perfect man; it's you. As someone who has a long history of battling with anxiety and negative thoughts, I am not going to give you some inspirational, up-in-the-air quote; I'm going to tell you exactly what I did. And it's simple: I moved home. While I know this is not an option for everyone, the point I'm making is I treated what I perceived as a "drastic situation" with "drastic measures." No 25-year-old is jumping at the chance to move away from the action and back home to mommy and daddy, but it was a drastic solution for what I saw as a drastic problem.

Your "drastic measures" may be something seemingly small, like deleting Instagram or deciding to sell your car because you don't use it much anyway. The point is it's a move that feels like a big step but is within your control. At the root of every issue outlined in this is anxiety, which essentially is the fear of not being able to control certain outcomes. Think how invigorating it would be to take charge of what's troubling you. 

For a long time, I felt powerless over my own life. I was going through the motions: paying rent and bills, going to events and nights out I didn't even really want to go to, feeding into the narrative that I spent too much on takeaway, and yada yada yada. I was letting my life run itself, and in the process, I was running myself to the ground. Deciding to move home wasn't easy, but in making that choice and doing it all by myself, I took back the reigns.

Now, I am a 25-year-old living back home in the country with my parents, but I am also a 25-year-old saving at a steady rate, in a good routine, and more in touch with myself than I have been in years. The feeling of my life spiralling out of control has evaporated, and slowly but surely, peace has trickled back in. 

It's also given me much clarity and a new perspective on my twenties. Where once I used to look back on my travels and feel guilt, I now feel nothing but pure nostalgia and gratitude for having experienced it. I have a far greater appreciation for what it means to be young and how precious these fleeting moments are. I also recognise that these were great learning curves. I learned a lot about my feelings towards stability and money and can use these lessons to help make more informed decisions. That's the important thing to note about life: it's all trial and error. While the twenties are all centred on love and career, I expect the thirties will revolve heavily around becoming a parent and marriage. Every decade is a new chapter and will bring new challenges, but that is what life is all about. 

So, are our twenties the best or the worst? I think a more appropriate conclusion would be they are "the most." We're hardly out the door of secondary school, and there are things being thrown at us from every angle. It's a lot. It's like falling head over heels in love for the first time; it's a complete hurricane of emotions, but eventually, the storm will settle. While the beginning of my twenties may be characterised by constant worrying, I have decided the remainder will be "worth the wait," and I expect yours will be, too.