I’m only in my early twenties and I’m suddenly terrified of dying.
This is a new thing for me. High school, college, a few years post-grad… I was blissful. Unaware of mortality. Smoking, drinking, staying out late, missing doctor’s appointments, thinking of disease as something far away and impossible. I know that we all hit a point where we become disturbingly aware of our mortality, but twenty-three still feels a little early to me. I was hoping for at least my thirties or forties.
It’s possible that this sudden fear was brought on by the worldwide pandemic we all just suffered through, in which everything was uncertain — our future, the future of our country, the future of our world. Or, it’s possible that it’s just a part of growing up. Regardless, I’ve spent the last year or two trying to stop obsessing over the end of my life, and focus on living my actual life.
Being in your early twenties is a scary, highly transitional time. As far as I’ve seen, it isn’t talked about that much — I mostly hear discourse about your late twenties being difficult and uncertain (yay, something to look forward to!). Maybe it’s because most people assume that those of us in our early twenties are excitedly beginning our careers, getting a taste of making decent money, and continuing to party like we’re still teenagers. (From what I see in myself and my friends, none of this is actually true).
However, for the last 18 to 21 years, we were all operating in a highly regimented, structured, and planned existence. When you were in your sophomore year of high school, there was a decided place to go next — eleventh grade. When you finished middle school, you went to high school; when you graduated high school, you went to college or started working. If you graduated college, you… got a job? Hopefully? And then what?
After we leave the educational system, it feels as though we are spit out into the world and the future is blank — no clear next steps, no set future goal. Of course, you can create these next steps and future goals for yourself (and you should), but at the beginning, there can feel like an overwhelming amount of choice regarding your future. Choice is a luxury, but you know what they say about too much of a good thing.
For example, you could get a job in the field you studied in college. Yay! But as you sit in your office and realize this might not actually be what you want to do, what then? Do you keep working the job because society values people with sensible jobs and you do enjoy having money to spend? Do you try to start all over in a new field, likely taking a significant pay cut to do so? Do you go back to school, just to experience that familiar structure again? Do you buy a house and settle down, and make a good financial investment for your future? Or do you take all the money you’ve saved, buy an RV, and travel the country until you feel like coming home?
If you’re like me, these questions and more are swirling around in your head almost constantly, a sensation I enjoy referring to as “noisy brain.” While it is a fantastic and privileged thing to have so many options ahead of you, all the choices can be paralyzing. You feel like there’s so much you want to do and there are competing narratives in your mind: one telling you there’s not enough time, and to go out and do what you want to do, and another telling you there’s plenty of time, and that now is when you should keep your head down, work hard, and plan for your future. You can’t make sense of what makes the most sense to do first, and which will be better to do when you’re older. You’re scared that choosing the wrong option will set you back, will be a mistake, and that you’ll regret it.
And, hey, isn’t the world on fire, too? Climate change is going to make our planet uninhabitable, this probably isn’t the last pandemic we’ll see in our lifetime, none of us are making enough money to even consider a future where we’re not financially burdened, there is injustice, pain, and suffering everywhere we look. What about that makes any of us feel hopeful about the future? What about that makes us feel secure that we’ll have the financial means and the time to actually accomplish most of what we want to do in this lifetime?
Here’s a glimpse at my frequent internal monologue that may feel similar for you:
I should buy a house. Spending money on rent is wasting money. Some people my age already own their own home. It’s a good investment. But the idea of buying a house makes me feel trapped, like I’m settling down for life. Having stability would be nice, though. Can I afford to upkeep a house? Having a house would make me feel successful, and other people would be impressed. Can I afford a down payment? What the hell is equity? Do I even want a house?
I should enjoy my early twenties and go live in a van or an RV and travel. I should enjoy being young and live freely without obligation. But how am I going to make money? If I don’t go out and explore now, I’ll never have time to later. If I live on the road, my cat won’t be able to come with me, and I’ll miss my cat. How will I get health insurance? If I fail, people will look down on me. Buying a vehicle is a bad investment. I’ll never get that money back.
There’s this constant pull between what you’d like to do and what the sensible thing to do is. There’s so many factors and what-if’s that it becomes overwhelming to even consider. It’s easier and more comfortable to just stay where you are, and hope that time will eventually reveal the correct path to you.
As I’m working through this new fear of disease and death, I’m realizing that it’s likely caused by the fact that there is so much left to do and so many options for what to do in my time on this earth, and if I were to die tomorrow, I’d think, “is this really all there was?” Would I be happy with how I spent what little time I had? However, at the same time, the worry of failing, of running out of money, of making the wrong choice keeps me stuck exactly where I am. At some point, a decision has to be made. We can spend the rest of our lives wondering if that risk would have worked out, or we can be happy that we at least tried.
Every day I’m getting closer to understanding the fact that yes, the options are overwhelming, but all you have to do is pick one, commit to it, cast away your doubts and fears, and live. I’ll let you know when I do that.