We do not feel like adults; we do not know how to be adults. We've been produced and packaged and shipped off by American idealism. We have completed sixteen years of prestigious private education, followed by four years at a small, liberal arts college. Just like our childhood friend, Eloise, we had grown accustomed to simply saying, "charge it please and thank you very much." We were fussed with and groomed to their liking, all to be pushed out of the Plaza Hotel and jolted by reality. We know we are lucky. However, right now our lives resemble a Monet: "from far away its okay...but up close, its just a big old mess." Two years out of college we are still lost, yet faced with rigid societal expectations about what we should be doing and who we should be. After fighting and avoiding our inevitable transition from adolescent to adult, we realize that in order to enjoy growing up, we must willingly let got of the past.
We are children of the prosperous 1990s. We are children of Bill Clinton, Ace of Base, and TGIF. We went on family vacations, received tricked-out American Girl dolls from our overindulgent grandparents, watched countless hours of Nickelodeon, and learned through MTV News that The Notorious B.I.G. had been shot. We expected eight gifts for Hanukkah, chatted incessantly on our personal telephone lines, and listened to Tragic Kingdom on repeat. We never knew a divided Germany, the USSR was a song by the Beatles, Elton John was always gay, and what was the Gulf War? As our generation has been particularly pampered and indulged, it is perhaps even more difficult for us to recognize and concede the fact that we must indeed leave the comfort of our childhoods behind and become adults.
Upon penetrating the “real world” and departing from our known selves, we are faced with many expectations from society with which we are only theoretically familiar. We are expected to marinate in the juices of our forefathers and live the "American Dream" by embracing the opportunities with which we are presented. We fantasize about our glory days, but in reality, the 90s are over. We have been blindsided by the weak dollar, the competitive and dwindling job market, and worldwide ecological and social turbulence. We bear the burden of satisfying and appeasing both societal and parental expectations, while struggling not to compromise our ideals and identities. With college far behind us, we are continuously harassed and advised about what to do with our adult lives. Society has imposed so much upon our generation, that we feel before we begin to mend what we have inherited, we must figure things out for ourselves. What does it mean to no longer be a child? Who are we in 2010?
We don’t pretend to know the answers, yet we can attest to the fact that we have spent the last two years trying to figure them out. After college graduation, we worked menial jobs and lived with our parents for the sole purpose of our South American Odyssey. We went, we had fun, we came back. Now, nine months after we have returned, we are no more enlightened or aware than we were before we left. Our allotted period for self-discovery has come to an end, along with our romanticized versions of our former selves. We realize that the lives we once lived are now an unattainable fantasy, a figment of the 1990s. Overwhelmed by our opportunities, yet stifled by the hemorrhaging global condition, we are puzzled. Our one certainty is that we are looking to be inspired. We are looking to “damn the man, save the empire,” but our inner monologue of uplifting 90s pop culture has greatly disillusioned us with its false promises. We know that our current state of confusion is not unique; every adult has gone through this transition, especially Lelaina Pierce, who had the good fortune to come of age while The Gap still sold denim separates. However, as everything thus far has been mapped out for us, the uncertainty of our next step is daunting.
As children, our future projections of ourselves never reached as far as twenty-four. Yet here we are. We may end up wasting many years on the self-indulgence of our disarray, but why wouldn’t we?
