25. plus one.

Earlier this week, I posted something about turning 25… being 25… living 25.

And then today, I saw this story: “The Kids are Actually Sort of Alright.”

From New York Magazine:

“Earlier generations have weathered recessions, of course; this stall we’re in has the look of something nastier. Social Security and Medicare are going to be diminished, at best. Hours worked are up even as hiring staggers along: Blood from a stone looks to be the normal order of things “going forward,” to borrow the business-speak. (Snip) … A majority of Americans say, for the first time ever, that this generation will not be better off than its parents.”

Well, that’s just beautiful.

Actually. The piece is not all about a nation of 20-somethings living with their parents, cobbling together a bank account from odd jobs and hourly wages.

It’s actually about something else. Like this lyric from Tyler, the Creator:

“I’m a f—— unicorn, and f— anybody who say I’m not.”

And then, there’s this, a song from Fleet Foxes, “Helplessness Blues”, the lyrics serving (as the piece says) as some sort of “gentle generational anthem.”

“I was raised up believing / I was somehow unique / Like a snowflake, distinct among snowflakes / Unique in each way you can see,” it begins. “But, now, after some thinking, I’d say I’d rather be / A functioning cog in some great machinery / Serving something beyond me.”

You hear that. Well, listen. It’s 25-year-olds, and 24-year-olds, and other 20-somethings. They’re saying lots of things; plenty of opinions and thoughts and motivations. But here’s one, and maybe you should write it down:

Recess this. (And do you know anybody that’s hiring?)


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