On the Verge of Growing Up: College Coming-of-Age
My friend — who wears firetruck red lipstick, blasts fantastic music, and once drove all the way to West Virginia accidentally — frequently throws her hands up and announces, “What a time to be alive.”
She says this as she drives with her windows down, sunglasses on, hair flying. The words and tone don’t change, whether the context is despair, excitement, or the utter bizarreness of humanity. The phrase always fits, ideally framed with a dramatic sigh, summing up this weird world and weird age.
Since remarks on the odd world could wallpaper every building on the College of William and Mary campus and still not be exhausted, I thought I would reflect on the weird age.
Psychologists describe this phase of limbo in wealthy countries like the United States as “emerging adulthood.” It occurs between living with one’s parents and “settling” into traditional adult roles, such as a long-term job, marriage, and parenthood. In the book Emerging Adulthood: The Winding Road from the Late Teens through the Twenties, Jeffrey Jensen Arnett describes this stage of life as “an extended period of exploration and instability.” Simultaneously, emerging adulthood encompasses the thrill and worry of the unknown.
For me, imagining the idea of a lifelong commitment to a company, placing a down payment on a home with a spouse, and starting baby prep by 21 is a one-way road to flu-like symptoms. Seriously, I’m sensing nausea and a fever coming on just writing that sentence.
Plus, as the elderly cynics love to say, “in this economy,” it’s impossible. It’s about as easy to find an internship as a gold bar. Double digit coffee prices sap the money we are supposed to be saving for a home. Heck, getting married was a lot easier before ghosting was invented. No wonder financial dependence, to some degree, is extended. I know that the day I turn 26, I will hold a funeral for my parents’ health insurance plan.
I have not even picked a major. The “full weight of adult responsibilities,” as Dr. Arnett calls it, seems about as distant as the galaxy Star Wars is set in. That is, far, far away.
“Emerging adulthood” brings an impalpable unease with it, a discomfort of growth that hasn’t quite solidified enough to become permanent or integral. It is present but just out of reach. When I’m home, I feel a little out of place, like I know I’m different from the last time I was there, but I can’t quite pin down how. Maybe I have new edges or gaps, or maybe the empty space left behind has altered, squished, or remolded.
The movies don’t help. See, I’ve attempted to study up on the phenomenon of coming-of-age. I’ve watched Lady Bird, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, The Breakfast Club, and Never Have I Ever. But the picture cuts off with high school grad caps flying into the air (or perhaps a brief snapshot of college life), signifying that adulthood is no longer coming. It has arrived. The credits roll. The viewers shuffle out of the theater, pit-stopping at the snacks counter for a last free refill.
Well, what the heck, Hollywood? Way to make me feel like a bum for not having “Character Arc Complete” stamped on my diploma. I feel like I was supposed to have Vol. 1: Growing Up all wrapped up last June, but the film reel just kept spinning. Maybe it will spin forever.
Change is confusing, unsettling, unpleasant, and painful. While this existential tirade could very well end there, I wouldn’t be honest if I weren’t a tad cheesy. We’re talking cheddar, feta, brie, cotija, camembert — the whole shebang.
You see, it’s spring outside. The breezes ruffle the meadows, green buds pepper the trees, the sun warms, so basking and frolicking are in order. It’s the season to hold a buttercup to your chin and test if its namesake dairy product suits your appetite, in case you weren’t sure.
Spring is transformation, growth, and awakening. It is a gentle and gradual process of the world returning to bloom. It is constant, perpetual, breathtaking change, a bridge between seasons.
It would be rather rude to demand spring to hurry up, to call it revolting because it is not the blazing heat of summer or the dreary cold of winter. The slow shifts spring entails are incredible in and of themselves.
So, adulthood may be taking its sweet time emerging. You may be trapped in a ferocious, grueling state of in-between. Yet, change is beautiful, in and of itself. It does not come with a 2x speed option, leaving us with a choice: to despise the uncertainty or to cherish it. The latter sounds a lot more fun.
“What a time to be alive,” a dear friend remarks on many occasions. The phrase always fits. The world seems a stumble away from falling apart. Yet, her words never feel sad. I think it’s the miraculousness of the last part: “to be alive.”
Since we are alive, we have the ability to act on this time, to create impact, to shake things up. As “emerging adults,” we may be on the brink of a quarter-life crisis. But we are also on the brink of possibility. We can confront this time. We can embrace limbo, we can celebrate the confusion, we can welcome the verge.
“What a time to be alive.” Windows down, sunglasses on, hair flying.