Life can sometimes deal a tough hand. For example, a girl I know. She is an outgoing introvert who loves books and hates crowds. She enjoys deep conversation, but has a difficult time with any form of small talk. She's prone to blushing deeper than a tomato. Also, she's me.
The tough hand? I have a job at a bookstore this summer, but I don't get to discuss the next great -American novel or swoon over Austenian heroes with book-nerd customers. Nope-- I have to make sure I sell them magazine subscriptions and trap them in a never ending isle of gadgets and gizmos.
My summer headline reads: Girl who just wants to be left with her books, hired to sell not-books to people who just want to be left alone with their books.
In what dimension is this a good idea?
I’ll tell you: It’s in the one where said girl (AKA me) is up to her ears in college loans and has exactly $14.17 in her savings and checking accounts combined. She does not want to become the ever growing number of millennials who are perfectly content with moving back in with Mommy and Daddy after graduation– no! She will rise above!
Allow me to throw some stats around, if you will. As of 2014 (the most recent study of unemployment and home living in young adults ages 18-36) 32% of people still reside in their parents' homes. An astounding 48% of the men, and 35% of the women from this group are unemployed-- making it unlikely that they will become independent structures in society at point in the near future. But this is not to point fingers; it is simply a reflection of the times.
You see, our generation, those just before us and all of those following us are being taught that we can be anything we wanted to be. We were raised on the dripping sweet conclusions of Disney animations, on the perfect bedtime stories, on Popsicles in the summer and hot chocolate in the winter– we rarely had to work for what we earned, many of us received an allowance because we sloppily made our bed twice a week. Some would say it’s no wonder we’re reverting back to our parents’ homes; when we never learned how to make it out there in the real world! When we realized we couldn't be princesses and CEO's right out of college, we turned tail and ran.
Because it’s scary out there.
I see a lot of those artistic quote pictures floating around online. One states dramatically, "Those who criticize our generation forget who raised it."
But I have a different image to offer: Generations before ours fought like hell to give their children what they never had. Instead of ripping their hopes and dreams to shreds, why don’t we strive to fill their shoes?
I admit, it isn't as catchy and it won't fit on a T-shirt. But there is so much truth to it.
No, we can't blame our parents and their Woodstock experience. We can't blame a gilded upbringing (#waltdisneyalltheway). We need to-- as a friend of mine puts it-- pick ourselves up by our bootstraps. It's difficult and frightening, but something needs to be done if our children are going to enter a world that is even half way decent.
And this all comes right back to me, standing behind a counter, shaking in my shoes and turning bright red at the thought of having to sell a magazine subscription to someone whom I know won’t want it. This is my way of stepping up. This is my way of living up the legacy of my Pop who worked two jobs as a sixteen-year-old to help out his newly single mother. This is my way of living up to my Mamma who raised her little sister in place of her absent father. This is my way of living up to my Meme, who escaped from an abusive relationship with just a suitcase, thirty dollars and a two year old and started a new beautiful life.
I won’t be crawling back to my parents’ house. They deserve a better thanks than that. I won’t become one of the stats– I’m going to make it, and I’m going to make it because I have no right not to. Wake up, we can’t be anything we want– but with any luck and a whole lot of effort, we can be worth something.
