Picture this, it’s 2020 and you just turned 25 while a virus called COVID-19 has ordered a quarantine for the entire nation. You’re on lockdown with a handful of new wonderful, friends that you’ve been blessed to mesh with, making 1001 TikToks and decorating covid-25 tees. The clock hits 12 and for once you’re not distracted by blasted overplayed music remixes that you dance insanely too anyway, city lights that look like their little own light show, hundreds of different people who all are escaping their own reality or celebrating a different human.
It’s 12:05 and you blew your cake candles out and the people you spent the majority of your life with ranging from a decade to the past couple of years aren’t in the room anymore. Instead, just an empty space where they would be singing you happy birthday but now they’re just a red heart notification on your Instagram birthday post. That annual birthday text goes missing and then it hits, nostalgia. Like hello, I was having such a great time, no way a quarter-life century crisis hit me, like that was just a thing dramatic affluent mothers would say during the O.C., right?
“If you’re feeling lonely, if you’re feeling like a failure, if you feel like you don’t know if your life has any purpose [or] if what you’re doing has any value, you can reach into this reservoir of nostalgic memories and comfort yourself.”
The thing was, I wasn’t nostalgic about certain people or memories but more so who I was. I had no idea who Farah has been and why she’s becoming this way. She’s 25 and so far from where she expected to be. Was she doing everything wrong? Why was she so adamant on her choices yet so lost on if they were the right ones or not. What was her purpose, what was she going to bring into this life, what did Farah promise her little self in a 2005 time capsule to be when she was older, did she do it?
It’s been a year since I’ve started realizing this change. 2019 was a year I went through constant major self-reflection and oof, not by choice. My life was like a bubble, I was always so dependent on the same short-term aspects or people to make me happy and I would consistently resort to it until the bubble popped. When it did, god forbid, I would have to resort back to whatever or whoever in order to not be alone. And of course, to start over fresh in a whole new city on my own was out of the question thanks to my roots. But it’s all good, 2020 came around and had to be the game-changer. Well, it came and it went like…
Me: *Feels down so rethinks life and priorities, gets head on track*
Life: “Kobe died and impacted the world, what did you do, fill out a monthly goal of reading a book? lol”
Me: *Tries opening up about bottled up anger*
Life: “You can’t expect people to fix your problems, you’re responsible for your own unhappiness. Chill girl, life is too short and nobody really cares.”
Me: *Decides to drop the ego and be vulnerable*
Life: “Yeah sorry I gotta go but sure you’ll figure it out or we can just play music and cheer you up real quick, distractions are key remember”
Me: *Withdraws and focuses on self*
Life: “Are you okay, how are you, let’s catch up soon, dying to know what you’ve been up too “
I am 25 and can openly say, I’m more lost than I was in my early 20’s. It’s a quarter-time crisis and like at least during a mid-life crisis you can go out and buy a car or do your impulsive deed of the day. *gets pinched* “Hey, it’s life again. You’ve got to be kidding me Farah, a quarter-life crisis? When Corona is a pandemic but who cares right, you’re worried about a quarter-tine crisis, get a grip.” That’s what I’ve been trying to do though and it’s like every-time I do, I’m going up those soapy stairs and fall right back to the bottom. Finding yourself isn’t easy, especially when you’ve always tied yourself to another identity. So to those who feel lost more than ever, right there with ya. But listen, let’s just recoup during our mid-life crisis, we’ll have to have figured something out by then.