BEING IN YOUR EARLY TWENTIES IS LIKE
Jahnavi (22, she/her) is an engineer by degree, consultant by profession, and writer by passion from Bangalore. She uses a lot of almost-there metaphors and visceral emotion to discuss abstractions like creativity, friendship, and early adulthood in her weekly newsletter thodi.substack.com. She is a trained classical singer, feels weirdly accomplished after solving a linear equation, and likes cats, poetry, novels with dragons, and bread.
Red Tulip, Gopal Ghosh, 1957, India, Pastels on paper, Image: H. 24 cm, W. 15 cm; Support: H. 34 cm, W. 25 cm, MAC.01123. Courtesy of the Museum of Art & Photography, Bengaluru.
Being in your early twenties is like
I dedicate eternities to dissecting the ideas of what I was, what I am, and what I should be, but it's like trying to capture a summer from ten years ago. I spend so long with myself, but I’ve never felt more detached from my person. My past shapes my present, but my present shapes my future, and I am constantly in flux, so where is the certainty in my metamorphosis? How do I plan my next moves while taking into account this unpredictability? What do I do when I feel so choked by the things that I think I should be, that I can’t figure out what I am – and how much I need to grow until I finally don’t feel the need to figure it out anymore?
Being in your early twenties is like
I realise that the words I had swallowed in high school have become hotter and hotter in my throat until they burn to be released. I can no longer remain isolated from the world that I inhabit and the world that I create. I realise that to live on this planet without doing it a disservice is to love it and to hate it and to openly and unflinchingly receive all of its cruelty and tenderness. It is to use the latter to balm the former, and to refuse to be desensitised to either, by sheer force of will.
Being in your early twenties is like
The entire spectrum of grief and the entire spectrum of love are revealing themselves to me, inch by excruciating inch. My bitterness grows and so does my joy, and I see that I am a mutating sum of growing and shrinking parts, shaded in messy tinges of both. I feel a newfound gratitude for friends and family, and I struggle with the vulnerability it requires to express it to them.
Being in your early twenties is like
There is freedom even the futility of fitting in. It is challenging enough to become myself, and any effort expended to become somebody else is a foolish thing. It is revolutionary enough to expand into the space reserved for me in this universe; any pain of jamming a puzzle piece into an unsuitable groove with a hammer is one I refuse to reckon with.
Being in your early twenties is like
I wish somebody would tell me what to do. I wish some cosmic lifeguard would pull me out of the deep end, drain the water that has found its way into my lungs, slap me on the back, and send me on my way with a descriptive and illustrated manual on how to stay afloat. I wish it wasn’t so hard for me to link fingers with the others swimming around me. I wish I could scream for help without swallowing more chlorine. I wish there were a way out that isn’t through.
Being in your early twenties is like
I recognise that I do not stop at 18 years old. I consider what I will be at 25, 35, 70. I reel under the weight of all my choices that will determine the course of this long life that has suddenly and inexplicably opened up in front of me – in all of its intimidation and all of its glory. I shake in fear, and I shake in excitement, and my body sometimes does not feel like it can fit both.
Being in your early twenties is like
I find myself thinking about growth and the right way to do it. I incessantly claw at the tearing skin as I am forced out of my multiple cocoons, and then I snarl at the people who try to help me. Outside of my shelter, I have not yet found a space to keep their hearts safe. I lick these wounds, and I salt these wounds, and either way, they burn. I am still in the process of accepting that they cannot close, no matter how hard I try to pull the ends together. I am still learning how to navigate the liminality between comfort and progress, to identify the need for and the extent of both, to wake up every morning without this information and live every minute blind to this clarity.
Being in your early twenties is like
I am forced to scrutinise the standards that have been imposed on me and the standards that I have imposed on myself. I struggle with the dissonance between my ambitions and my reality, and I punch, kick, and scream as I try to close the gap. I am equal parts embarrassed that I cannot seem to, stubborn that I must, and exhausted from the effort.
Being in your early twenties is like
My heart takes on a life of its own, breaking and mending in a constant feedback loop. With every fantasy about adulthood that is shattered, I sputter and flail under a new wave of grief. With every tiny joy that independence allows for, I soar higher. Every day is a battle between cynicism and belief, between becoming jaded and retaining childlike enthusiasm. It seems so much easier to tip over into a gaping maw of resignation and bitterness, and an active, agonising battle to stay curious and present. It seems like I'm perpetually running on empty and I can only hide from the cruel sweetness of hope. It is an act of rebellion that demands all of my reserves to let hope find me - again, and again, and again. I viciously oscillate between is-this-it and this-is-it. I question every adult in my life – is this how you’ve been living all these years how do you do it how do you do it how can I do it I don’t think I can do this. The answer makes me frustrated and bitter – that’s just life. Then I buy a gift for my friend and I think – this is how you do it. I am reminded that my voice has power, that my words have significance, that my presence matters, and I think – this is how you do it. I pet a purring cat, read a good book, have lunch with my friends, and I think – I am so happy to be alive and excited to keep on living. 25, 35, 70.
Being in your early twenties is like
From the fog of precariousness, a solidness emerges. I am finding my place, and I am figuring out how to carry forward my relationships into this new home for my person. My opinions harden, and I see how they act as an anchor in the middle of all this terrifying change. I settle into who I seem to be becoming, only to have to shape-shift once more the moment I find my bearings. Each time is more painful, but I am starting to trust the process. With every refocus, I am becoming more comfortable with the shifting starting line, with not being able to find the ending, and with recognising that the directions modulate as constantly and violently as I do. I am getting better at letting others take a look at my bruises when I fall, and at bandaging myself up with resilience and doggedness. I am starting to fight the questions less and live my way into the answers more.
Artist Note
Having grappled with change in recent years, I’ve found myself inadvertently recognising the perpetual state of becoming that defines early adulthood. The confluence of things ending, beginning, and planning for the future has prompted reflection on the repetition and modulations of this phase across generations. Amidst the difficulties, there emerges a curious sense of glee in embracing newfound freedom. I believe that the fierceness of independence, coupled with a strong sense of self and firm opinions, helps navigate early adulthood. This piece delves into the intricacies of self-discovery, recognising both the progress made and the vast expanse of growth that lies ahead. It confronts the dissonance between societal standards, personal ambitions, and the stark, sometimes looming, reality of adulthood. It grapples with the embarrassment, stubbornness, and exhaustion that accompany the pursuit of closing the gap between expectations and reality. The creative exploration further draws from Rainer Maria Rilke's wisdom, culminating in the resonant line, 'I am starting to fight the questions less, and live my way into the answers more.'