Are you Doing Enough in your 20s?

It doesn’t feel very girl-in-her-20s of me to admit that I miss my family, am tired of moving, and want to put down roots.

When I was 16, I thought that 26 sounded like high time to be married. My expectations for my 20s were to be working an impressively altruistic job (and being immensely successful at it), living in a glamorous city, meeting the love of my life, and getting married. It is amusing to me how much our perception towards when we think we should have our ‘lives figured out’ changes as we age. Why does it always seem to be a decade away, no matter how old we become?

As far as I can make out, the consensus is that your 20s are for having fun, going out, trying new things, and remaining perpetually shimmering. For living, learning, and building character. According to anyone older you ask, these should be the best years of your life.

At the heart of this narrative is the mirage of a golden decade where you can live with abandon, flourish in a no-real-responsibilities lifestyle, and constantly be doing something exciting. But also productive; lest you forget that the decisions you make in your 20s will shape your entire life. Whether it’s going out every weekend, training for half marathons, going on a date a month, backpacking around the world, or climbing the corporate ladder, the bottom line is that there is always more you could (and should) be doing. In my experience, this pressure is amplified if you’re single.

While I absolutely advocate for trying new things at any chance you get (take it from me- I spontaneously moved from Paris to New York in three weeks for a job offer that presented an opportunity I couldn’t refuse), I resent the societal pressure to be doing the most when we are still trying to figure out who we are, who we want to be, and how we get there.

The kicker is that once you approach the big 3-0, expectations shift again. Ideally, you will buy a house, get a dog, have a fiancé lying around to whom you can promptly marry, and girlboss your way up the corporate ladder before settling into a comfortable middle age by the time the decade is up. My question, then, is how do we get there if we haven’t had time, in amongst the partying and the marathons and the travelling, to do the groundwork in our 20s?

For most of my early 20s, the struggle I grappled with most was uncertainty about what I wanted to do with the entire life that stretched out before me. Feeling lost is an old jumper that I suspect many of us often reach for when we don’t know what to wear; it has long been a favourite of mine to pull on and take comfort from. Much of the reason for this is that I have so many dreams, many of which feel too big to dare to speak aloud. How can I possibly achieve everything I want to? Which dream should I pursue first? Are these dreams even mine to pursue?

While I will never know how Sylvia Plath articulated this exact predicament so precisely in The Bell Jar, I do know that reading her words for the first time felt like someone lifting the cloth of the table I’d been hiding under and sitting beside me. The knowledge that others could relate to the same, at times debilitating, thought pattern brought me true comfort. Often, half the struggle is feeling alone in your experience. You are not alone. I have since learnt that almost everyone in their 20s (with a penchant for existentialism and overthinking) is grappling with something similar.

Now, I count the true triumph of my early 20s to be the realisation that I fundamentally disagree with Plath’s protagonist’s commentary about the fig tree. Indecision will not cause your metaphorical dreams to rot, and you can pluck as many as you like. They will grow back, season after season, if you water them. Repeat after me: I’m not the fig, I’m the tree.

Upon reflection, there are many stereotypes and expectations for this decade that I have fulfilled. As mentioned, I have felt lost in myriad ways, lived abroad, moved more times than I can count on one hand, gone on enough first dates to keep my girlfriends entertained, drank too much, danced all night, and learnt from my fair share of mistakes. But I wonder if I’ve had my fill. At the ripe old age of 25 years and two months, I think the novelty might have worn off.

Since turning 25, I’ve had a longing to feel settled, be working a job that fulfils me intellectually, and be living somewhere I want to call home for an extended period. I can feel my priorities start to pivot away from trying new things and putting myself out there, towards curating my taste, building a community, and investing in a life I want to nurture.

The problem is, as soon as I acknowledged this desire for stability, the spidery legs of guilt begin to creep in. It doesn’t feel very girl in her 20s of me to admit that I miss my family, want to be asleep by 10pm, am tired of moving, and want to put down roots. But it is the truth. Am I too young to want to slow down? Having consulted friends, the amusingly almost-unanimous sentiment is that yes, everyone thinks I am too young to be slowing down and that I should be doing more of what I have been: moving around, going on dates, making new friends, living outside of my comfort zone, trying new things, etc.

But I am tired, and the word count for this article is screaming at me to reach a conclusion.

My conclusion and concurrent advice to any 20-somethings out there is to focus on what you are doing instead of hyper-fixating on everything you should be doing. Trust the seeds you are planting. In our 30s, we will water them. Contrary to external pressures and the nagging voice of comparison, you are doing enough. Every choice you make every single day is shaping who you are. Trust that.

Everyone’s garden looks different.