Twentysomething

"Sorry, but 23 is just a weird age."

So I signed up with this institute that does focus groups. They pay you $75 to sit around a table and talk about certain products for and hour or two - a pretty sweet gig. I signed up a week or so ago and they've sent me a few emails. Finally, I called today, hoping to sign up for a focus group for men 19-60 with health insurance. They ask you a few questions to see if you "qualify" for the target group they want to poll/market.

Unfortunately, I didn't qualify. But Brian (the guy on the phone) was super nice (at one point, he cracked a joke that I didn't really laugh at). He looked through what other groups they had available and asked me a few more "qualifying questions".

And that's when he told me: "Sorry, but 23 is just a weird age."

Apparently, in their studies 25 is the cutoff age for some though they can go as low as 18. You also can't rent a car until you turn 25. It's the last "forbidden fruit" I can't pick, and since driving, drinking (not at the same time), smoking, R-rated movies, and buying scratch tickets are so old news, I'm jonesing for the next roped-off age eschelon. But I guess that's not really the issue...

The thing is, 23 is a weird age. I've been out of college 2 years now, independently experiencing this "real world" everyone was talking about (not to be confused with the show where "8 strangers live in a house and blah, blah, blah"). I'm not a college student, yet I don't really feel like an "adult" all the time either. I'm not married, not established in my career, don't have kids or a house or any of those other things that seem to be awarded to you when you turn 25 (or 30. They weren't clear on that). So what I am?

Caught in the middle. Straddling the line. The term "twentysomething" is so ironically appropriate a description; it is so ambiguous, so undefined. The twentysomething recipe calls for: a day job, a pinch more sleep at night (but be sure to kiss those afternoon naps goodbye), a full sized refridgerator, and a generous amount of bills. Mix in vigorously with increased responsibility and a wardrobe that includes things other than t-shirts and jeans, simmer for 5-7 years.

But it's a transition period, I suppose; a dry-run of adulthood. Without a family or a mortgage, there's still some slack to make a few (or a lot) of mistakes. It's like hopping in the shallow end of the pool and wading out to the deep end - you're in the pool and swimming, but you've still got your big toe touching the bottom.

It's growing up. It's not eating fastfood at 2am. It's not writing papers. It's not eating fastfood at 2am instead of writing papers. And it's nice to live in an apartment instead of dorm room, though sometimes there's still Wendy's wrappers lying around.

And you know what? I'm ok with that.