Quarter-Life Renaissance: documenting the mess and meaning of early adulthood
Personal Professionals— Poem by Harper Parsley
We live in a world where professionals can't be free
Where employees are discouraged from artistry
Where the serious can't share a laugh or glee
We inhabit a world of infinite dreams
Told we can be anything, or so it seems
Yet confined to one path, following streams
In a world of depth, we seek to inspire
We cherish each other, lift each other higher
But often we find, our dreams start to tires
The doctors aren't allowed to dance
And the lawyers can't paint by chance
The teachers can't sing or enhance
We are told to hide our inner light
For showing it may dim our flight
We must conform to reach the height
We're told to devote our lives full span
For straying makes us a lesser man
In a Renaissance, we try to plan
An ecosystem of grand pursuits
Yet we’re bound by our career suits
No time for passions, just office boots
Criticized for seeking joy within
While sacrificing with a grin
Fearing failure as a sin
Enslaved by the names our work has been
So dance, so sing, so paint your dreams
Embrace the light, break the seams
Be bold, be true, let your soul beam
Be who you are in the dark, in the light
Be who your parents fear you might
Be who you see yourself within
Be who you want, and today you begin
Entering early adulthood has taught me many things, but most surprisingly, what used to feel concrete has started to melt. Structure, certainty, and plans, they’ve all become more fluid than I ever expected. I once thought life was a single path I’d find and follow forever. Now it feels more like a branching web, with a thousand ways forward and no right answer.
As a child, I couldn’t imagine my life with a job. I couldn’t picture myself doing anything forever; I thought I would never develop a passion for anything. Now, I have the opposite issue. Everything intrigues me and therefore, I do nothing. I don’t want to choose just one, and the truth is, I don’t think I should have to.
Why are we told that we can be anything… only to be asked to pick one thing and stick to it? That’s not how real life works. People are multidimensional. Even the most focused people I know—surgeons, scholars, engineers—they have hobbies. They have guilty pleasures. They laugh, they cry, they dance in kitchens when no one’s watching. Workaholics have hobbies, creatives have drive, busy people enjoy winding down. Although we may seem one way to some, we unlock entirely new personalities when around others.
We all live full, tangled, nuanced lives. And the older I get, the more I realize that the expectations we set for ourselves, especially in the early-twenties post-grad haze, can be suffocating.
I graduated college not long ago, and while it should’ve felt freeing, it also left me feeling unmoored. There’s no more syllabus. No built-in community. No one checking in. Even with plans for grad school in the fall, these months in between have felt strangely disorienting, like being stuck between chapters. I’ve struggled to get out of bed some days. I’ve stared at the ceiling, wondering how I’ll piece my life back together—whatever that even means.
These spring and summer months feel like wasted time rather than a relaxing (and well-deserved) break. I blame most of this on capitalistic conditioning, instilled in us since pre-K, but also on my ambitions. I have an amazing life full of opportunity, with supportive friends and family who have never pressured me to be anything but myself. In this time alone with my thoughts, I’ve had to dig into who that really is. And I don’t think I know yet. But another thing I’ve realized is, I don’t have to know.
I’m lucky to have a loving support system. No one’s pressuring me. No one’s rushing me. But even so, I find myself slipping into a space of doubt. Who am I without deadlines? Who am I without a title?
So I’ve been doing some deep reflection. And here’s what I’ve come to:
Five things I’ve learned (and am still learning):
Life is not predetermined. We can change direction as many times as we need to. Our paths are ours to write.
Curiosity is a gift. Being intrigued by many things isn’t aimless—it’s expansive. It means you’re alive.
Reflection is productive. We’ve been taught to measure progress in tasks completed, but stillness can be progress, too.
There’s no such thing as one “true” self. We’re different around different people. That doesn’t make us fake—it makes us human.
We don’t have to figure it all out right now. The pressure to “have it together” by a certain age is arbitrary and unrealistic.
Part of the reason I started this blog was to record this strange, transitional time. I want to look back on these entries someday and remember what it felt like to be here: 21 years old, lost but hopeful, confused but curious, overwhelmed but still getting up and trying again.
I imagine my future self reading this and smiling—not because everything turned out perfectly, but because we kept going. We kept asking questions. We kept listening to ourselves. Although I don’t know what she’s doing, I know we did it together.
So, where does that leave me now?
I want to live more boldly. I want to share more honestly. I want to build community through art and words. I want to be open to learning and open to being wrong. I want to feel more present and less pressured. I want to be proud of the life I’m building—not because it’s perfect, but because it’s mine.
This blog has already helped me so much. It’s a reason to write, to reflect, to get out of bed and go experience something worth documenting. It’s a reminder that stories only exist if we live them.
Grad school is on the horizon, and that’s a motivator too. I want to walk into that next chapter with depth and clarity, with something meaningful to bring to the table. I don’t want to spend this time waiting—I want to spend it becoming.
Still, I struggle. I question everything. I worry that committing to a job or city or version of myself means I’ll lose all the other ones. The “what ifs” creep in daily. But I’m starting to believe that no matter what I choose, I’ll still carry the parts of me that matter. Even though I am well aware that I can change my mind (and most certainly will), committing to one job, location, or even person seems daunting to me. In a limitless world, why should I limit myself?
People always say, “You’re still young, you don’t need to have it figured out.” But I wonder—at what point do we? At what point am I no longer young and free? Does freedom have a time limit? Am I wasting that time now in solitude? Or am I taking advantage of the life I have? And more importantly: who gets to decide all of that?
I’m learning that no one really does. There’s no deadline. No “correct” pace. Just a world full of people trying to figure it out, same as you. I have come to understand that humans are not one thing. That we enjoy so much in private, that the world may never know. Not only can we not make fair judgements on each other’s lifestyle, but we cannot fully understand them. If I can’t fully understand my own mind, there’s no chance I could understand a stranger’s.
I’m choosing to believe this:
You don’t have to walk in anyone else’s footsteps. You don’t have to shrink yourself to fit a title. You don’t have to be one thing. There’s no box that can hold all of who you are—and there never was. Although we may relate or sympathize, we are not truly alike to one another. Even though we inspire each other, we are all our own unique selves.
There’s plenty of untouched sand out there. And it all leads to the ocean.
