I realize I'm a little late coming to this post, but I've been busy being a twenty something. And, according to this New York Times article, you cannot judge me for it. Okay?
To be honest, I began this post on the 19th of August, but I was subsequently caught in a twisted mass of boxes and table legs, of rosters and TWO HUNDRED AND SEVENTY FIVE DOLLAR stacks worth of books by Edith Wharton, Seamus Heaney, Henry James, and the timeless Ernest. Hemingway, that is.
And, as such, my scatterbrained mind has entirely forgotten all the quips I had planned for this post, all the commentary I had lined up for your entertainment.
Probably the gist was that I completely agree. That the stages of development and adulthood are changing. That almost no one I know has a career, or children, or a spouse (let alone all three). That this is by no means universal, but the author surely must have had me and the late twenty-somethings I attend graduate school with on their minds while their keys clicked away. And also probably that I think you should read it. Yes, you.