#thereal20s

I’ve had so much to say over the past several weeks. It’s been cathartic, it’s been refreshing. It’s been...honest. This is a theme that I’ve been ruminating on the past few weeks. Honesty in all ways, in all facets of life. I’m entering 2021 authentically, transparently, and unapologetically. Being honest with the world, with others, and most important, myself. Speaking truth to power, always. There’s no better way to put it than this:

2020 was a strange year, and I'm sure it was for most of us. Even ten months later, it remains inconceivable for many of us that we suffered a pandemic of that scale in the modern world we live in today. Months of lockdown, changed lives, work from home, restaurants, and street bars closed — even the way we socialize changed radically. New communication platforms came to light, and virtual life became the law. I understand the initial suffering and confusion, by not knowing what will happen when all this will end, and how it will affect our lives in general.

I guess I was not the only one who had to deal with this uncertainty. 2020 was strange, yes it was. Nevertheless, maybe it was the best year of my life. I learned to be patient, to live with my inner thoughts. I started projects I wouldn't have done otherwise. I learned to live with a man (I know, I deserve a medal). To share intimacy and secrets, to be more conscious, more considerate, above all, less selfish. I learned to value my friendships, my family. I've never missed my family as much as I did this year. I learned to force myself to work and study at home on my own initiative, without distractions, with responsibility, and to live in an eternal struggle against procrastination. 

The truth is that although the pandemic has robbed us of tranquility and peace of mind to family, it has also left us the opportunity to learn and be better people. In the midst of difficulties, solidarity has made its way, allowing people to share and mitigate some families' shortcomings. This is nothing but personal growth from a human and spiritual point of view.

2020 has been strange. Of course, it has. However, it has been a year where we have become stronger, more supportive, and above all, more human.

It feels strange reflecting on 2020, when all the hallmarks of a typical year have disappeared. 2020 will forever live in my mind as the 300 days of March. Summer roof parties, restaurant dates, and passport stamps were replaced with banana bread baking, journaling, and watching my eyebrows grow out to Groucho level lengths. 

2020 was simultaneously the longest and shortest year of my life. In January and February, I set my sights on the future and enrolled at Miami Ad School in order to secure the professional future I wanted. In March I lost my part time job due to the impending threat of the Coronavirus, and in April I sat in my Brooklyn apartment and listened with horror as ambulance sirens blared all day long, carrying patients to local hospitals while the federal government sat back and did nothing. In May and June I watched with trepidation as a nation courageously confronted and protested against racism and police brutality. In June, my heart swelled out of my chest as I watched my community band together to support its most vulnerable members through one of the hardest periods in recent history. In June and July, I prepared to move back to my parents house and face an unknown future, both socially, politically, and professionally. In September and October I gritted my teeth and dealt with the rollercoaster of emotions that comes along with moving back in with your parents at 29 and missing the companionship of your friends and now long distance boyfriend. In November I rejoiced after millions of like-minded Americans cast their ballots to hopefully turn around the trainwreck that has been the past four years. In December, I am exhausted. 

As one of the longest and strangest years of our lives comes to a close, we reflect on the lessons we learned in 2020 and how we’re carrying them with us into 2021.

There’s been a lot of bad, but also a lot of unexpected good. We learned that we can only control so much. We learned that life is fragile. We learned how much personal relationships - friends, family, coworkers, and peers - play a role in our overall mental health and well being. But we’ve also learned how to rely on ourselves, pick ourselves up, and be our own cheerleaders. 

Today I am 23. That number scares me a little (a lot). It feels like the end of an era. The end of childhood. The start of something I’m not ready for. And truthfully, it is all of those things. But in my head I’m still 16. Sometimes I wonder how I even got here. How has so much time passed? Where did it all go?

One of my greatest fears is not getting to finish. Running out of time. Not doing enough. Leaving before I’ve made a difference. Each birthday is a ceremonial, yet unwelcome reminder of this fear. That’s why on days like today, I tend to sulk. 

Many would say, “23 is so young! You’re crazy!” But the way I see it? 23 is basically 25, 25 is basically 30, and 30 is basically 40, and 40? Well, at 40 my life is over isn’t it?

Okay before the 40+ community comes for me, let me unpack this. Rationally I do not think the age of 40 means the end of everything. But the part of me that is afraid of running out of time? That part does. 

When you are in your 20s, all your peers are doing this, and doing that. Life moves quickly and dramatically in this period. It’s impossible to keep up. It can feel like you’re falling behind, or not measuring up. Every November 30th I am reminded of this, and I sometimes start to spiral.

But this year, the pandemic, the strange journey that has been 2020, has given me so much perspective. I’ve accepted that time moves always...and I’ve decided to move with it. There’s no running out of time, but rather running with it.

This November 30th? I’m counting my blessings, and celebrating myself. Oh, and of course...putting my running shoes on.

Kailee, 22 23

As someone with relatively high anxiety, I’ve let fears dictate the first 20 or so years of my life. I have all of your typical fears: I’m afraid of bugs, afraid of dying, but I suppose my driving fear has always been what others think of me. Or rather, I’ve been afraid of what I think others think of me. 

In my childhood, I was a shy and overweight bookworm. I was afraid of being teased, so I focused on improving my appearance until it no longer became a point of potential ridicule. I also learned how to be funny and outgoing as a defense mechanism; if you make others laugh, they are less likely to pick on you as a weak link. 

In my 20’s, my biggest fear was not living up to the expectations that both myself and society had placed on me. I wanted to make money doing something I loved, but in the real world that is much easier said than done. Fortunately, I never want to live life with regret, so the fear of missing out on life experiences pushed me to try new things.

My 20’s helped me discover some fears I didn’t even think I had. I never used to fear public speaking, (in fact I believe I am a natural born performer) but when I was doing stand up comedy, I realized that standing alone on a stage trying to make people laugh is WAY more nerve wracking than I thought. 

Ultimately, I think it boils down to the fear of not being good enough. But the funny thing is, once you do fail, the fear goes away and you realize that failure is not as devastating as you made it out to be. I used to be afraid of having to move back in with my parents, but after seeing how Coronavirus ravaged New York this Spring, I was actually happy to move back to Massachusetts and finish my copywriting program from the relative safety of the suburbs.

Everyone has fears, and when you’re in your twenties there is a lot to be afraid of. Some fear how they will pay their debts after school, while others wonder if they will ever be able to buy a home. People fear not being good enough, successful enough, to the point that fears can often be paralyzing. They may wonder, “Is it even worth trying when there is the possibility of failure?” 

Luckily, fear can also serve a positive purpose. In fact, fear can be as much of a motivator for some as goals are to others. Fear can even be beautiful, humbling, motivational, and transformative. What matters is how you choose to harness your fear. As long as we face our fears head on, we can release them and ultimately grow.

Talking about goals is so ambiguous and complicated that it is challenging for me to know where to start. 

I could talk about goals already achieved, like having finished my university degree and being admitted to the Masters I chose. Another one that I could mention is the fact that I managed to move from Venezuela. Get my student visa. Being an immigrant for the first time. Perhaps the latter is not necessarily a goal achieved, but it is a consequence of the act.

I must humbly say that what I have proposed I have achieved. With effort and dedication, I have not been slow to get the things I want. But if we talk about the future, it scares me and excites me at the same time. Nothing better than the mystery of not knowing what will happen tomorrow. That's what life is about, right?

What is difficult for me to think about is what will become of my life after the Masters's. Will I continue to live in the United States? Will I return to Caracas? Will I be moving to Europe? What do I want? Honestly, I'm not sure. My genuine wish is to find my ideal job (as cliché as it may sound). I want stability. Stable salary, a career with a future, a healthy relationship with my partner, and good health for my family and friends. I don't ask for much.

I grew up in a very closed community. Expectations from family and close people are very high. Many of my friends married young, have children, and some did not finish their careers. Another goal that I have accomplished is to ignore what they expect of me or what other people have achieved from a young age. I am happy and calm. I know I'm going to my time. And that each one's time is an entirely personal matter. I'm fine; I'm OK. I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. I know I'm entirely at my own pace.

I know I have goals that I want to accomplish. But I also know that life can take me on a different path. I am not afraid of that. Until then, I will enjoy my present.