After careful consideration I have come to the conclusion I have become the victim of a plague that is supposedly sweeping my generation, the twenty something crisis.

I’m at a stage in my life where there are many possibilities and therefore many decisions to make. Making decisions for me is the action most likely to send my fragile grip on reality into orbit. So as you can probably guess, this is a somewhat trying age for me (and for Jamie Cullum too it would seem, hence the title of this post. ‘Twentysomething’ is my current life anthem).

I think I’m finally starting to understand what everyone is talking about when they come on the tv or hold media conferences declaring that turning forty is the best thing that ever happened to them, they feel much more sure of themselves now, well of course you do, you’ve done the hard part already. The phrase ‘it’s all downhill from here’ shouldn’t have such negative connotations in my view. Yeah, there might not be such a peak anymore, but it’s a nice cruise to the finish, no more slogging up the hill. And of course, there’s now no pressure from various places to make decisions about your entire future right this second, now, or you'll miss the boat, your life will be ruined without a detailed and pre approved ten point plan that has worked for all your acquaintances and their forebears before you. After all, you've don’t it already and now you’ve earned the right to dish out the warnings of impending social and financial doom. You’ve made your decisions, though secretly you’re now envious of all those youngsters who have so much potential and so many options spread out in front of them. The world is at their feet, that’s great isn’t it! Not at all terrifying (yeah right!) I suppose you always want to be on the other side of the metaphorical hill, whether you’re ‘over’ it or not, the grass is always greener and all that.

So, I’m back at my old job. Yay money, boo minimum wage. Not sure if it was a good idea or not to be honest, but hey, I need money and I know there’s a lot worse things. You see this is all part of the decision making problems. I don’t like going backwards and going back to a job I’ve already left and moved on from falls into that category. On the plus side, it means no more job hunting, avoiding the job centre (joy of joys!) and I get to work with people I genuinely like, including the two people who I’m planning to move into a house with (another good reason why a job straightaway was key). But since I’ve been away, the company has got new hiring policies which means I’m on a 12 week probation period to see if I can do the job I was hired for almost a year ago and had for about 6 months as well as filling in the same application forms etc that I did a year ago, except this time my last reference is from the place I’m officially applying to! Sigh, red tape rules my life. It also means that I don’t get a wage raise for another six months because they start from scratch (damn and blast it all!). Oh well, least I’ve got a job with a credit crunch looming, that’s always good.

Whilst shelving books ALL DAY today (this can’t go on long term, it is way too boring) my mind started wandering back to the problem that plagued me all around Australasia: I HAVE NO PLAN. This is the first time in my entire life where the future has stretched before me with no next step. Sure I have ambitions and long term goals, but this is the first time that there has been no, definite time scale. School was dominated by exams, exams would lead me onto University, Uni would lead to a degree, then I had travelling to look forward to. Now it’s a bit of a shock. There’s nothing there! Big open road that me and as rumour has it, a lot of people my age are travelling down, directionless with a broken sat-nav, no map and an expired AA policy.It should be freeing but it’s rather disconcerting as a natural over-planner. It seems I’m going to have to embrace spontaneity, go native, cross country without a 4x4. Embrace the inner action hero, or if that fails, road trip movie protagonist.

Well, I do have a plan, of sorts. I decided when I was away that I was going to give myself the freedom to chase my dream. I’ve always wanted to write professionally, I’m not particularly fussy about what type of writing but it’s the only thing I’ve ever really wanted to do. When I’ve considered potential careers, I’ve always had a ‘and I can write a story/novel etc in my free time’ clause. In other words, I’ve always considered my ‘career’ whatever it may be as a means to an end, something to support me so I can write.

I’m acutely aware what a difficult field it is to break into and that luck is as much a factor in your ability to support yourself with a pen as talent and hard work are. I have chosen, however, not to let the fear of failure and poverty cripple me, mainly because I’ve realised it’s not me who is afraid of it, I’ve just been conditioned to think I am. It’s the people around me who have decided that it can’t be done and I’ve let myself be swayed by their cautious views, until now.

I know it’s all coming from a place of love and is said out of fear. My parents, for instance, seem to have visions of me living in a squat, on state benefits, with 500 children and a drop beat husband who I’ll be supporting by drug trafficking or prostitution because I didn’t get a nice safe Graduate job in a bank or an office or somewhere equally mundane where my ‘potential’ wouldn’t have been wasted. They are just trying to protect me from an unnecessarily hard life, particularly because I’ve always worked so hard to get a good foundation in life. But I’d rather just be happy doing what I love to do, what I feel compelled to do.

This is a bone of contention with my father especially. He just can’t seem to understand the concept that a 6 figure salary is useless to me if I hate the job I’m doing. That is because his entire working life has always been about making money. Dad never had the chance to have a ‘career’, he just had a job, a way to pay the bills, not something to build up and be proud of and he wants it to be different for me and my sister. Thing is, I’ve been thinking, maybe I don’t want a career, a conventional one anyway. Because really, what does a career achieve? When a banker or a HR assistant or a PA retires, what have they actually gained other than a pension, age and life experience? Really, what have they achieved in life except pushing money from one place to another? Does it really matter that they landed that big account single-handedly? Is that the sort of thing a grandchild asks about when they want to know about Granny/Grandad’s life in the so-called noughties?

I’d like to do something meaningful with my life. Careers which have a direct effect on people’s lives, that are based around helping people, seem to be the most rewarding. Nurses, charity workers etc might not be the richest people in the world, but at least when they look back on their lives they can safely say that the made a positive impact on peoples’ lives. This sort of job I wouldn’t mind, and quite honestly is the sort of thing that I think I’ll end up doing long term.

Now I know SOMEONE has to do the banal little jobs, making sure everyone gets their pay, filling out the health and safety forms and organising that tax rebate of yours, but I know I’m just not cut out for them. Money isn’t a big enough reward for me at this point in my life. I’m looking for those elusive buzz words ‘job satisfaction’. That’s the thing I keep trying to make my father understand. Right now, I have no ties whatsoever. I do not NEED a job that makes my life easier. This is the best time for me to follow my crazy dreams and work for minimum wage and move out of home and make less than £800 a month stretch for all my needs because it’s just me to worry about. Other than rent and utility bills I have no serious commitments like a mortgage kids to get in my way. Dad wants me to get a good job now so I can save up the pennies and live my life once all the responsibilities now. Seriously who does that? I’m well aware that if I don’t do it now, when I’m young enough, stupid enough and in the position to take a risk, I never will. There will never be a better time to do this so I may as well do it now, whilst I still have the ability and inclination.

So that’s what I’m going to do. I’m giving myself a year to seriously try to be a writer. No more excuses, I have none now: no serious distractions (there’s no severe consequences for letting your mind wander to plots and sentence structures when you’re tidying up book shelves, unlike writing pieces of coursework); no more waiting for inspiration to strike; no more pressing matters.

If I want to make this work I’ll have to approach it seriously. I’ve already started sketching an action plan which includes spending a heap of money on a new computer (my old laptop finally gave up the ghost whilst I was away I’ve been told, it had been threatening to do it for ooh around 2 years now, see previous post) at the first opportunity and until then using the old fashioned method of handwriting (which I prefer anyway, paper is much more portable) and if a computer is needed, getting my lazy self to the library (an excuse to read books for free, like I need one!).
If I don’t try, I’ll always wonder you see. I’m too curious for my own good. It’s one of the reasons I get bored so easily; once you know something, move onto the next mystery and there’s nothing more mysterious than the contents of my head, it baffles me several times daily. Am I making a mistake? Maybe. Will I look back in twenty years time and laugh at my pitiful attempts to be a writer? Most likely. Will I regret it? Perhaps, but I’ll regret it more if I don’t try.

So, I’m going to summon my courage and get on with it. It may not be the sanest thing to do, it may not be the right thing to do but if I’m actually going to make my own life, make my decisions, do what I want to rather than what I feel is expected of me and trust that taking a risk won’t ruin my life. I have to try. It could be a pipedream, I’m probably putting off the inevitable, but hey, there it is.

Oh look, direction on a clear, metaphorical life road. Only one signpost as far as the eye can see, no mileage included. Wind in my face, defunct sat-nav, maps and AA card tossed in the nearest bin as I wiz past in my scruffy but infinitely cool vintage car with the top down. Bloody brilliant!