Millenial Math or Some Pie Charts That Are Not Sweet

If you went to college in the Northeast, chances are your friends don’t live too far away. Using no reliable data whatsoever, I can confidently say 50% of my graduating class is in New York, 30% lives in Boston, and the other 20% has been strewn by fate across the globe helping war-torn villages rebuild and making bank teaching Korean kids to speak English. Which is to say, unless they live in Zimbabwe, chances are I’ll encounter a friend or two from the good ol’ class of ’09.

It was during one of these happy encounters that I was told about another statistic. I was lamenting to my fellow ‘09er that I was, by 1950s standards, an utter failure. No husband, no children, no green bean casserole recipe. I also sighed that I fell drastically short of today’s benchmarks of success as well. I was wallowing in my loserdom feeling that full-time employment was but a pipe dream. And then I realized my very good-natured, bright, kind friend was equally underemployed and unwed and that I had for all intents and purposes called one of my best friends a loser. Oops.

She took it better than I thought and reassured me that I needed to look at the big picture. One third of millenials are in grad school/med school/law school. These lucky so and so’s are similarly delaying adulthood and/or the real world with additional education. The second third majored in Economics and found a corporate finance job that sucks their soul like a slushee. Unless they sold their soul a while ago (likely), in which case they just get rich. And the glorious last third that majored in Communications or Humanities (the study of communicating and being human respectively) or, god forbid, Visual Art or Theater, are the true pioneers of the age. With every latte they sling, with every kid’s booboo they have to bandaid, they get one step closer to finding out what they can do for a living that will pay off their student loans before social security kicks in. If all else fails, there’s always Zimbabwe.

Liar Liar Pants on Fire, Mom and Dad, For Shame

Little League champ today, Weather God tomorrow.

Let me just start this blog by saying I have no right to complain. All in all my life is ok. It could be better, and therein lies the bitter disappointment I taste in the morning.

See, as a lucky millennial, I grew up with amazing parents. Supportive, present, not soccer/stage/hockey mom present, just the regular kind. Although my mother sometimes threatened corporal punishment in another language (extra intimidating), I got through my childhood physically and mentally unscathed. When I acted out, I was sent to my room to “find my star.” I still don’t really know what that means, but it worked. I was a good kid, didn’t do drugs, hung out with smart, dare I say nerdy?, kids. I did all the right things to get into a good college short of saving a beached whale. Despite the gaping hole in the marine rescue part of my application, I was accepted into a good college.

Every step of the way, my parents said I could do anything I wanted to do. That I could get into any school I wanted to. Basically, I was a rock star in average kid’s clothing. When I got into IvyLeague, I had to believe them. So merrily I went along to college, my launch pad to stardom.

Well college was pretty great. So was graduation. The realization that I had a totally useless DOUBLE major, however, was doubly disconcerting. I was rejected from the grad schools that me and all of humanity applied to that year. Teach for America dealt me a mean slap in the face too, but encouraged me to apply next year. My parents had betrayed me!

And now, what’s become of that golden child? Has her self-esteemed withered to the size and texture of a raisin? No. Has she set more reasonable goals? Why yes! She still has visions of stardom (albeit in an entirely different field) and even a few moons in her sights. Until she reaches them, she’ll be working three part time jobs, taking five classes, and telling you all about it.

Did your parents tell you that you were all that and a bag of chips, so to speak? Leave a comment, tell me about it.