As recently as three, maybe four years ago, I struggled with
my own perceptions of ‘my generation’.
I found abundant ways to criticize my peers, and myself, for our
trivialities, our banalities, our bizarre tendencies to interact in abstract
ways, our apathy. I was annoyed by our
eagerness to wallow in premature nostalgia for the decade in which we were
born. I was disgusted by our
narcissism. I hated the way we embrace
the voyeurism that the internet allows us.
I scoffed at the self-gratifying memoir-writing, blog-posting,
accomplishment-announcing, trauma-glorifying proclamations we make. I sorrowed over the way we fomented
jealousy, arrogance and neediness by gorging on each others triumphs, setbacks
and compliments. I felt angry that our
parents sheltered us, coddled us, told us that we could do anything we
wanted, to the point that we all believe that we were really, truly
special. And, typical of all the
aforementioned, I was even sad that we, that my generation, grew up in a time
of plenty, unchallenged by any outside forces or events to demand of us, and in
doing so, define us.
It wasn’t until very recently, maybe three, four months ago,
that I realized how grateful I am for all of this.
Last September, I moved to a new town, something that used
to be a regular habit of mine. I hadn’t
done that for several years. I had a hard time the task of finding a job in a strange place, something
that I have also done quite a few times before, albeit not during a recession. Suddenly all of the stories I’ve heard about
the unemployed became a little more real to me. I have to qualify that statement, because I have a few things
that diminish the specter of long term unemployment: I do not have kids (and the responsibility to provide for
them). I am not middle-aged. I have no debt (thank you,
scholarships). I have three totally
different, viable resumes. The panics
that I felt must have been a mere shadow of the terror that some people are
living. To wake up, and have maybe an
hour or two of bright happiness with your family where you don’t think about
the rest of your day: an afternoon
tinged with desperation, filled with resume-submitting, phone-call making, and
internet-searching. This is followed by
a sleepless night of panicked realizations and absolute, crushing
hopelessness. Every day. Over and over again.
We are in the middle of a recession, staring at the
possibility of years more of it, with even further to fall. Am I happy that my generation spends a lot
of their time waiting for their recognition?
Feeling entitled and disproportionately special compared to the next
person? YES, yes I am. For the first time, there is something
demanded of us. We have to crawl out of
our massive debt, and pay, for the rest of our lives, taxes to take care of our
aging parents, without any promise of the same resources to care for us. We have a fragile environment that we will
continue to rely on, and resources to stretch thin. We are not going to have the life our parents had. To get through this, we are going to have to be more creative,
more resourceful, more forward thinking and more self-sacrificing than we have
previously been capable of. For the
first time, we have a chance to prove ourselves and maybe, someday, probably
not in our lifetimes, earn the recognition that we are all accustomed to and
desire.
Will my generation be able to do it? I don’t know, but at least our own greatness
is one thing in which we all believe. Its a start, of sorts.
Here's hoping that we can live up to that.
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