A Mid-Life Crisis (psst, I'm barely 26)

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Is it really a midlife crisis at the age of 25, given the average life expectancy for women is 66 years old? Or am I experiencing a quarter-life crisis? Or, am I simply experiencing a crisis of being? The markers of success I was trained to strive for, are further and further away from my grasp; a feeling only heightened by the ongoing economic crisis. While I recognise that I am incredibly privileged, I also recognise that I have done nothing with this privilege. I feel as if, at every turn, I have failed to live up to expectations. Whether these expectations are mine or the world's are immaterial; for the world's expectations have become my own. 

By 25, I expected to be on my way towards home ownership. By 25, I expected to be on my way towards a career, and not a series of jobs that more resemble a quilt of employment rather than a cloak of fulfilment. By 25, I expected to have been financially stable, or at the very least not experiencing financial anxiety every damn day. By 25, I expected to be living on my own and living a life independent of my parents. And yet, at 25 I am nowhere near home ownership. At 25, I have just discovered what I wish to do with my professional life. And though I may not be financially stable, at least I have a fulfilling job. And yet I feel as if I have been left behind; facts notwithstanding. This feeling is motivated by, what I feel, is the greatest failure of my life. By 25, I expected my life to resemble those I'd seen on TV; the close friendships in Living Single with the upward mobility of the characters of Friends. And yet, I feel incredibly alone. Though this feeling is the byproduct of my own choices, this does not make hurt any less. Some may argue that it heightens the pain, for the only one to blame, and the only one who can course-correct, is me. 

Perhaps this reads, to you, as the complaints of an individual with enough privilege to concern themselves with the problem of self-actualization. Or the common struggles of a millennial born into a world so unlike that of their parents as to be alien. Nevertheless, I am going through a crisis. It does not manifest itself in flashy cars, young partners and an awful tan. It manifests itself in quiet moments of anxiety and frantic productivity to dismiss that anxiety. It manifests itself in my refusal to think about the future, because the present is, already, too much to deal with. It manifests itself in fear - not of failure but of making plans because I know that the universe, and the forces that manipulate it, do not care about my plans. And it is far easier to bend like a reed in the wind without a plan, than with one. Suffice it to say, that I am no longer optimistic about my future or the future in general. I have come to accept that the future will be bleak with fleeting moments of sunshine. I have come to accept that the future will be characterised by more fights to preserve the basic rights we now take for granted. I have come to accept that the lack of faith that led to my departure from the Church, has also coloured every inch of my life. But beyond this, I do not know what to do. 

That is my crisis. It is not personal, it is not economic, and it is not political. It is deeply existential. If the hope for a better tomorrow is what animates the human spirit toward self-perpetuation, what do you do when that hope has been destroyed? What do you do when you no longer have the energy to build it back up again? and what do you do when you recognise that much of your life is filled with distractions, to draw attention away from this dilemma? 

How am I to respond to my crisis?

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