Last year, I graduated from university, moved back home, worked at a café–after tens of thousands of dollars in student loans–and I had no idea what I was going to do with my life. I diagnosed myself with a quarter-life crisis.
At work, all my co-workers were in the same position. We are all between 22-30, all with a degree or diploma (mostly in the arts) and we were working survival jobs. Our rightful frustration is not due to an inability to adjust to the “real word” or a sense of entitlement. Neither is it a right of passage and “paying our dues.” It’s not a coming-of-age movie or a television series about the exploits of twenty-somethings who still manage to have sex and party despite unemployment and a failing economy.
This is not some sort of existential crisis. It’s political.
We have a right to be pissed off:…
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