One of my favorite former bosses was responsible each year for organizing the Martin Luther King Jr. Day breakfast that our company hosts for hundreds of community members. A few years ago, she told me she woke up around 2 a.m. the night before and thought she’d forgotten to order the food.
I gasped. “What did you do?”
Deb: “You know, if this had happened when I was in my 20s, I’d have cried. In my 30s, I’d have been pissed off, looking for someone to blame. In my 40s, I’d have tried to make food for everyone. In my 50s, I’d have tried to order food. In my 60s? I went, ‘Oh well, I guess they won’t have breakfast,’ and I went back to sleep.”
I was dumbfounded. “So you did … nothing?”
Deb shrugged. “Here’s the thing you realize in your 60s, and especially after two bouts of breast cancer: It’s not that big a deal. This isn’t the end of the world. In fact, it’s not even close. Also, it turned out, I had ordered the food. So it was all good.
“I wish I could go back to my 20-year-old self and tell her just to calm down,” she added. “But the thing is: You have to go through each of the stages to get to this point. You can’t rush them.”
She’s right on so many counts. I’m in my 40s, and there’s so much I’d love to go back and tell my 20-something self, most of all to calm down and that it’s not the end of the world. Also to treasure how much energy and free time I had back then. And to love my body and be grateful for its robust good health. And that just because someone is mad at you doesn’t mean you’re wrong. And so much more.
Even though Deb is right – you can’t just jump from the freak-outs of your 20s to the calm acceptance of your 60s – I hope there are other 20-somethings who might like to hear what I wish I could tell my former self. This is meant especially for those of you who, like me, are on a different path than their parents and don’t have a lot of people to guide them. My mom was a homemaker, and my dad was a truck driver and farmer. They were (are) loving and supportive, but they didn’t have tips about office politics or sexual harassment.
They also are white, whereas I’m Korean. I was adopted at 6 months and raised in rural Iowa where my sister and I were literally the only Asians and one of two families of color in the entire county. I grew up identifying as white, yet I realized as soon as I left the cocoon of my hometown that no matter how much I talked like them, ate like them, dressed like them and lived like them, white people would always see me as other. As much as my parents love me, they can never fully understand the feeling of betweenness that comes from not being white, but not being Asian either. (I call myself Fake Asian because I don’t speak Korean, have never visited there and know almost nothing about the culture, yet I look like the real thing and am treated as such.)
So if you’re in your 20s and need guidance, this blog is for you. I’m also fortunate enough to have a lot of really smart friends, and I’m already asking them to share their accumulated wisdom as well. If there are specific questions you’d like answered, post them in the comments. I’m here for you.
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Things I Wish I'd Known in My 20s 