twentysomething

On the way home to Astoria from my internship today, sandwiched between a bright eyed, underpaid, entry-level worker and a rain-soaked City Year kid, I really felt like a twentysomething. Now I know, I've not yet made it to "twentysomething" (one month, 14 days). But there is something distinctly wonderful and earnest about being this old-- or young-- in the city. We twentysomethings are the naïfs that keep New York's corporate sweat shops running and its outer boroughs' landlords supplied with fresh tenants. We are dumb enough to believe, still, that our expensive brains and flawless Urdu will pay off in the post-graduation job market. In most cases, we're wrong. So why does it feel so right?

Well, because I like to be put to the test. Give me three assignments about incredibly varied architectural goings-on in the world, and I will write them. Ask me to contact PR for a dozen photographers, and yes, I will gladly hold while I wait for an available representative. Because being new to the game, and flexing my professional tendons is still fun. And I'm riding the wave. Despite overwhelming naïveté on the part of my millennial cohorts, I can't help but feel like remaining shiny-eyed and wondrous is the way to go.