We left the city on a Thursday around lunch time on what would become an impromptu hop around the Hudson Valley. Peekskill, Beacon, Newburgh, and then finally New Paltz, where we were scheduled to have dinner with friends and spend the night, anticipating a long, well-deserved hike the following day. The weather was unusually warm and a weekend free of gigs unusually rare, so we felt excited, relieved. Seeing people again after the toil of lockdown holds a newer, heightened significance — like a longing that is satisfied with every meeting, every bout of laughter.

The conversations that weekend were varied, but seemed to circle back, again and again, to a collective sentiment of feeling underwhelmed, unengaged, and low-key burnt out. At some point, someone expressed that they were "thinking of other things" for the first time in their professional life — other things being a significant career change. The phrase, and the loose, wishful-thinking feel of it has been stuck in my head since. Thinking of other things — like returning to a daydream or relishing in a fantasy. Much is expressed in this vague and wispy little phrase.

For friends across multiple industries with various types of work arrangements to feel so similarly about their careers suggests a generational change, one that appears more nuanced than trendy discussions of The Great Resignation (or renegotiation?) or quiet quitting. For those who were beginning careers in or preparing to enter the workforce at the turn of the millennium, the growing despondency toward work sounds a little more like a tired "now what?" that is being asked of ourselves and each other. A good friend once referred to this unspoken rub as "the new guy" on the job, personifying the uninvited party to portray how different the workplace felt, despite a "return to normal."

The underpinning of this frustration is years in the making, a short list of the myriad of factors appeared in a New York Times essay from 2019:

An entire generation was raised to expect that good grades and extracurricular overachievement would reward them with fulfilling jobs that feed their passions. Instead, they wound up with precarious, meaningless work and a mountain of student loan debt.

(For what I consider to be the seminal “paper” on millennial burnout, see here.)

Perhaps what we are experiencing now is the whiplash of "performative workaholism" falling so suddenly out of favor. It is no coincidence that a generation of people who were encouraged to turn what they love into careers would feel this way now — a mixture of uncertainty and disappointment — when considering how disproportionate the “hustle” of their young lives feels when compared to where they currently are: at a point in history when the style of work that once defined a generation is no longer on trend. To contemplate other things is to contemplate leaving behind an identity that was once vehemently guarded and tirelessly shaped. Now, a job can be "just" a job, but is there, or will there, be anything left to show of who we were before? In typical millennial fashion, even changing careers is a kind of identity. We have done the work once before, are we really willing to do it again?

Realizing that these strange, complicated feelings are a communal struggle is a solace as much as it is an indication of a collective shift in opinions. With the amount of situations in life and around the world that are beyond control, the fact that we are willing and able to consider change is extremely fortunate and deserves some healthy gratitude (theme of the week, be thankful.) There was an excellent Willa Cather quote floating around recently that partially inspired this collection of thoughts:

It’s so foolish to live (which is always trouble enough) and not to save your soul. It’s so foolish to lose your real pleasures for the supposed pleasures of the chase — or of the stock exchange.

Maybe this is the feeling of a generation trying to save their souls.

— caro.

Listening to:

This, on repeat, while dancing at my cat:

Reading:

Reading The Search for the Perfect Sound from the Washington Post, which also turned into me drooling over the design on this webpage. Give these designers a Webby!