Jeffy And The Brain

Figuring out that you’re probably never going to figure it out, is the first step to figuring it out. Old people need to chill out. Except Jeffy – he’s cool. I don’t usually like to point fingers, but I’m blaming the brain for this one.

My thoughts, though few, are currently all over the place. I think I’ve said too much that I’ve confused myself – happens very often. But basically we’ve come under fire for taking too long to grow up, right?

What does that even mean? Too long?? Sounds pretty subjective to me. Did you learn ANYTHING from watching Interstellar, mate? That perhaps time is relative? Or that love is a force in Science, which transcends dimensions and can’t be quantified? Or that we can use the force of love to guide us through a baffling array of time-rooms, find our 10-year-old daughter, and communicate with her using Morse code (because our daughter is that smart. And the force of our love will help her understand)? Or at the very least, that setting fire to a cornfield is a good way to distract your brother?

Picking up where we left off in this grand Gen Y discussion, it’s an honour to introduce you to my main man, Jeffery Jensen Arnett. Even though Jeffy (yea, we’re on nickname basis now) is not actually one of us, meaning he’s old – judging from his hair, I’d say a baby boomer – he’s actually a pretty sweet guy. He hasn’t participated in much of the psychobabbling and name-calling nonsense that’s been hurled at us. Quite the opposite, he’s dedicated only like, his entire life to research in the new phase of human development he discovered and coined “emerging adulthood.”

That is, when he’s not vegging out with his wife (Lene) and twin daughters (Miles and Paris) in Denmark, which he does every summer, by the way. Imagine if the guy actually worked through his summers – like the rest of us. He’d probably have discovered by now, some scientific theory explaining how and why we Millenials seem to believe the sun shines out of our arses, which is really what we need to clear our names once and for all.

And I have a feeling the truth is going to make everyone else feel so guilty for ever kicking up such a huge fuss and calling us “aimless” and “selfish” and “entitled”, that they’re just going to let us have our inheritance already. I mean, I dunno about you, but I feel emotionally ready to be the heir of a very large sum of money right now. This may have something to do with the Christmas sale going on, I can’t say for sure.

Ok, so: neuroscience data suggests that our brains are still changing and developing well into their third decade. It’s kind of like how we’re empathic towards the teenagers with weird facial piercings, long and greasy fringes obscuring their faces, and black varnish on their nails. Oh, poor lambs. The pixies are already working overtime to put the other half of their brain together. They simply can’t see what we see.

Until very recently, we (not you and me per say, but our parents and older) had to make some pretty life-determining decisions about education, career paths, who to tie the knot with and whether to go into the military, at a time when parts of our brains weren’t optimal yet. The prefrontal cortex, an area responsible for planning, prioritizing and controlling impulses, is one of the last brain regions to mature. Having earlier established that we’re going to live till 200 – I know the number seems high, but it’s in the ballpark – it makes biological sense that the 20s have shifted from being a time for setting your life in stone to a time for self-discovery.

Just between you, me, myself, and I, what does it mean to be an adult, anyway? When I was 15, I scribbled ‘Criteria for Adulthood’ on the top of a napkin. The list went: one, visit Paris; two, learn to wear lipstick like a real woman; three, get a tattoo; four, stop using swearwords as counterarguments; five, eat chicken liver.

I’ve managed to do two and a quarter of those things, so I’m clearly almost half an adult now. That’s how you become an adult, right? By ticking off boxes on a checklist, even though there may be some grey area of fuzzy maturity and wisdom measure that’s not so easy to ascribe.

In my oh-so-limited existence, I’ve come across a number of 40-, 50-, even 60-somethings, who don’t have all of their boxes checked. (Have you been to Europe?) They’ve either started their careers over or never quite settled into one (in big people language: career reinvention, entrepreneurship). They are either single or divorced (in big people language: fear of commitment, irreconcilable differences). They either don’t want kids, or just behave like kids (in big people language: personal choice).

Are they adults? One thing’s for sure, we aren’t the ones pointing fingers and throwing pejoratives at people with half-formed brains.

So, we have half-formed brains. Fuckkkkk………………. We can either use this as an excuse and prove the baby boomers right, or cash in on this handicap and prove them wrong.

As it happens, an unfinished brain allows us to competently acclimatize ourselves to changing environments and pick up new skills quickly. Adaptability is key in a world where Orange Is the New Black, Cronuts are the new donuts, Uber drivers are the new cab drivers – and they are freaking out big time, in case you didn’t know (who wants to be the first one to break the news to the cabbies about driverless Google cars that require human intervention only once every one million miles?).

It’s vital that we make sense of what kind of world it is that we’re living in and then decide what we need to be really good at. And neuroscience proves having half a brain is just ideal for this. So tell your folks to chill out as you expose yourself to new things, change your mind often and seem very unstable in your life. Just remember to practice independence and maturity in other ways.

Peter Pan: The True First Avenger

Ain’t nobody got time for that, except him. The boy least likely to – not the English pop duo (I mean, they could if they wanted to, I guess) – is going to change the world. Slowly, but surely.

Since we’re all BFFs here, I’m going to take this opportunity to admit something vaguely mortifying. If there’s anything I’ve learnt about being single, it’s that this world isn’t meant to be experienced alone. No doubt I can polish off an entire pan of seafood paella meant for two by myself, someone still needs to cook it! To a certain extent, it helps having 1,782 Facebook friends – that’s kind of how I got you to read this blog thing in the first place anyway. No man is an island after all.

I’m not saying people in relationships lead better lives or are happier than those not in relationships; what I’m saying is that we were made to love. (This sounds like something God would say. If you wanna pull a quote from the Bible, now is the time. LOL! Laugh out loud. Lots of love. Whatever.) We can love anything and everything, really, but if we find one thing – preferably a person – that we really, really love, everything just becomes a bit more magical. And difficult. But magical, nonetheless.

With that cat out of the bag, it should come as no surprise that my purpose for dating in the first place is to be in a relationship that hopefully leads to marriage. This stance seriously disturbs and freaks people out, more often than not, to the point of defecating in their pants. I just want someone who wants to hang out all the time and thinks I’m the best person in the world and wants to have sex with only me. (And then marry me one day.) FUCK SAKE, IS THAT ASKING FOR TOO MUCH?

Back in 1970, men typically got married at 24 and women at 22. Today, the average age at which people wed is 32 for men and 30 for women, with an increasing number of us deciding not to marry at all. BUT, BEB??!?!?!

Back in 1970, the average life expectancy was about 70. Today, if you’ve managed to escape mass shootings in elementary school, you’re likely to live to a ripe old age of about 200. Unless a white cop shoots you for being an unarmed black person, or your passenger plane vanishes without a trace/gets blown out of the sky by rebels, then you’re back to being dead at a relatively young age.

The longevity megatrend has a rippling effect shaking many sectors of the economy and aspects of our lives, which we are not fully aware of just yet. Could the Peter Pan syndrome be a result of longer life expectancy? Wise men say only fools rush in; would it be a sin then, to extend our time for exploration, adventure and discovery beyond the recommendations of our forefathers?

When my mother got out of college, she had three options: she could become a secretary, a secretary, or a secretary. My life is vastly different. I was brought up with a sense of unbounded possibility and was told there was nothing in this world that I couldn’t do. I had – or rather, still have (Peter Pan complex, y’know?) – the chance to go to university, which I didn’t; I’ll let you know in a few years how that’s worked out for me.

I’ve basically been handed on a silver platter, a myriad of opportunities and an invigorating freedom that my mom could only imagine. But so often I am spoilt for choice to the point of paralysis – touché. I have the world at my feet and numerous doors wide open before me, but not even the slightest clue as to which direction to step in.

We were promised everything growing up. And that’s exactly what we’ve been served. But it’s a rude awakening and a real dilemma, having just realized that there’s only so much our hands can hold. (There’s always a catch, innit? Those fucking pricks.) We’re suffocated by choice, responsibility, and our insecurities; we’re terrified of taking risks, because settling on one thing implies forgoing so many other things. #opportunitycost. We’re bent on putting off big decisions like investing in our own place, picking a career and falling in love, for however long the world will allow us to. Omg, is it just me or do we actually kinda suck?

But then again, a drawn-out chapter of experimentation and introspection may not be such an outrageous idea in the book of life for our generation, who will have to address and solve many of the environmental, social, and economic problems bequeathed to us by previous generations – thanks a lot, by the way. I mean, I don't even remember asking to be born in the first place.

Children are esteemed for their imagination, candour, and high spirits. And it strikes me that these are the precise qualities we need to get ahead in this age of agility. Perhaps the traditional benchmarks of adulthood are gradually losing its relevance today. Orange is the new black, is it not? Get with it already – Peter Pan may just be on the brink of curing Ebola.

Forever Young

It’s the latest trend to live in the past and in your parents' basement. Are you doing it too? Scaredy-cat, scaredy-cat, what are they feeding you? Scaredy-cat, scaredy-cat, it’s not your fault…

We postpone commitment and shudder at the thought of responsibility. “The Peter Pan Generation,” they’ll say. “Inheriting your mess since the ‘80s!” we’ll retort without missing a beat. Our society is full of lost boys and girls, known as Millennials or Generation Y, who’re being accused of not wanting to grow up.

The economy being total shit today is often cited as the biggest stumbling block obstructing our road to adulthood. Taking the first step towards maturity – securing a job, buying a house, settling down with a partner – has become harder than before. A growing number of adults (myself included) don’t move out of their parents’ home to save on the colossal deposits now required to buy a property. (I just really love my parents a lot, ok??????)

In 2012, it was reported that 32% of Britons aged 25-40 are living with their parents, where the pressure to grow up can be so easily tuned out with a simple flick of the TV remote. Not having to worry about putting a roof over my head and having someone else take care of all the cooking and cleaning has definitely bred an inertia in me, that seems to defy Newton’s first law.

However, inflated property prices, recession and economic depression are not circumstances unique to our times – our attitude of taking the easy way out and making excuses is. While I think we’re just being really smart and practical about it, sociologists – who are obviously Baby Boomers – believe there are much bigger psychological factors at play here. They’re claiming that the root of the ‘infantalisation’ of today’s adults can be attributed to a fear of growing up.

We’re apparently scared to think of ourselves as adults, especially when hardly any good seems to come with being a grownup – apart from the cheap thrill of purchasing cigarettes and alcohol with our own ID. The media’s glamorization of teenage years more than any other life stage has placed most of our cultural values with youth. And the further we move away from it (ie: grow up), the more jittery and tense we become, they’ve observed.

Most of us spend our entire childhood looking forward to this period of sleepovers, acne and snogging, which – as it happens – passes in a blink of an eye. Only 5% of our lives take place in high school, working on the assumption we live to be 80 years old. (Live long and prosper, you guys. We got diz!) It’s only natural to feel somewhat crestfallen when the curtain comes down.

Considering the number of TV shows and films devoted to high school drama or coming-of-age plots, which cater to our fixation on reliving the good old days, it’s hard to deny this phenomenon. IT’S HAPPENING! AHHHHHHHHHHASDKJHSDFKJ!!!!!! Another trend indicative of this desire to escape adulthood is the growing popularity of books and entertainment aimed at children and teenagers (such as Harry Potter, Hunger Games, Twilight, Frozen, computer games) among adults.

Some of us are completely immune to this line of thought, though. Not likely the cocky captain of the football team, who peaked in high school where he was once adored as a hero, but now wastes away working the cash register at a 7-Eleven as he reminisces his glory days. But a strong contender is the nerd, who had an unfortunate high school experience and would never consider going back because he’s become the CEO of a TNC today, certain that what's about to happen will only be rosier than what's already happened.

It seems riding it out at the bottom of the high school food chain may have its silver lining after all. While some of us are too busy feeling nostalgic for the past and afraid of what the future might hold, the rest of us know that there’s only one way things could go from here – up and forward. (Is that two ways?)

Daddy Issues

Sometimes my father takes me out for food and we talk about my life – or rather, lack of.

Every three months or so, my father takes me out for dinner, just the two of us. Even though we pretty much sit down at the same table every other night of the week to eat with the rest of our family, these dinners hold a special meaning for the both of us. “Dinner date with my dearest baby! Together we would have clocked only 82 years on this blessed earth!! No prizes for guessing who contributed to most of that number… But can’t help but feel younger tonight (grinning face with smiling eyes emoji)!!” was a Facebook status he posted after one such tête-à-tête meal.

He’d make a reservation for half past seven at our usual spot, where the waitstaff warmly greet him by name, the menu is consistently fresh and good, and his daughter is never mistaken for his mistress. The evening kicks off with a round of passion fruit martinis as he'd imitate someone intently contemplating between appetizers. When our waiter comes around again, he’d place orders for the same three starters that we always share – raw oysters, crab croquettes, and a Niçoise salad.

Once the last of the oysters is slurped down, it’d be time to address the elephant in the room. He’d wave our waiter for a second glass of martini before launching right in to ask me about my plans for life. The first few times, I failed to pick up on his gestures for another drink as one’s cue to get those ducks in a row. Taken by surprise, I’d responded with a shrug and glazed eyes. And of course the infamous phrase cherished by teenagers all over the globe, “I dunno.” Usually this would be cute. But seeing that I’m no longer a teenager, my father remained utterly unimpressed for the most part.

But these days, I don’t need to be prompted. With a mouth full of crabmeat and a drip of tartar sauce on my chin, I gush to my father between bites, about what my next step in my career is going to be (big shot yoga pants designer), that I’m saving up to buy a house (but handbags and shoes first), that I see myself settling down and starting a family at 26 (current companionless situation is not ideal, but I’m choosing to stay optimistic.) This amuses him, to say the least.

As if mimicking the world we live in, my ambitious plans seem to be ever-changing. Having seen me through just about my entire life, my father describes me as his “erratic, wayward and unpredictable child.” In his eyes and in his words, I’m “a unicorn that cannot be trained.” He knows all too well that the next time we chat, I would’ve probably decided to become a nutritionist instead and be seriously flirting with the idea of celibacy. He has begrudgingly accepted that my ‘life plan’, as he so sweetly calls it, really only goes as far as the day after tomorrow.

Reckless, impulsive, irresponsible, and immature? Yaaassss. But I take comfort in knowing that I’m not completely alone. If there’s one scenario that’s become endemic amongst a sizeable group of 25 to 40-year-olds today, it’s our collective decision to turn our backs on the milestones of adulthood to exist in a state of prolonged adolescence instead, where we can avoid the ball and chain of responsibility – marriage, mortgage, children, career – for as long as possible.

If by the end of the night I appeared to be on the verge of tears, my father would order us ice cream. If I didn’t, he’d order a cheese platter. Whichever was served, I ate my heart out anyway over the grimness of my future.