Quarter Life Crisis-The Struggle is Real


Maybe it is optimistic of me to still be calling it a “quarter life crisis” at 27…. It would lead one to assume I would be living til 108… but lets be honest, I’ll be six feet under by 70 (if Bolivia’s Death Road doesn’t take me first)

My ‘crisis’ began at 25. After a huge life event I started to question everything in my life. Who was I? What am I doing with life? Why have I not achieved more? Why do I not own my second house yet? I only have one degree… REALLY Brittany?? My friends are getting married, engaged, having babies and I’m just cruising around solo going on adventures and romantic picnics with none other than my two canine best friends.

I became restless, stressed, anxious. I got a loan for my second house. I re-enrolled at University to add another degree to my ‘small and pitiful’ degree portfolio of one. I splurged on a brand new car. Because a smooth ride may equate to a smooth life. I took myself on a gigantic European holiday to attempt to settle my wanderlusting soul. But alas, it fixed nothing. I was still not happy, still not content. I didn’t sleep well. I was stressed. I placed so much pressure on myself to achieve more. Be more. And I don’t mean the little things like eating more maltesers. I’ve got the family sized pack down to 3 minutes on a good day. #nailingit

The pressure on young people now is astronomical. We are expected to excel and obtain a good paying job straight after university. We are supposed to fall in love with the perfect man and have 3.3 perfect children in our perfect house. My mother quite often asks me “ I don’t understand why you can’t find the right man Brittany”, Well mumma, nor can I. I like to think of myself as caviar maybe. An acquired taste.

After taking all the above steps to attempt to rectify said crisis I found myself more restless than ever.

I know. I’ll quit my job and move to Sydney- start fresh. Whilst this subdued my issues temporarily, it was more like trying to blow one of those birthday candles out that never actually go out. You know the ones- they are amusing for about 3 seconds before you want to throw them out the window. ugh.

2 years later after living in the astronomically priced Sydney, after studying an acting course to appease my creative side and still searching for that second house – because at 27 I needed two, I realised my crisis was still far from over. What the hell is wrong with me? Im doing all those things that society expects us to do- yet here my mind was completely detached from my body and floating around someplace far, far away.

Realistically I am not going to live until 108- meaning this crisis has to stop now.

So I quit my job.

I sold my house.

I sold my car.

I grabbed my favourite person in the world (insert sister here)

We bought one way tickets to the other side of the world and are leaving to adventure for the next few years with the only things we own being in the bag on our backs.

 The only plans we have are that there are no plans.  And I’m discovering that no plans are the best plans.

And guess what, I’ve never felt better.

Fuck convention and expectations. Live for you.



Getting really tired of pants and responsibilities. 

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