It’s midday. On a weekday. I’m still in bed, hungover and doomscrolling, with no intention of getting up anytime soon. I’m slightly nauseous, feeling weak, and that sickly taste of alcohol is still lingering in my mouth. The night out was incredible with memories made and new friendships strengthened, no regrets there. But there’s something about a hungover lazy day at 21 years old that feels like a failure.
The dread kicks in because I haven’t applied to any graduate schemes or taken notes on a critic for my dissertation today. I probably smell and I definitely need to do a food shop. When was the last time I spoke to my parents on the phone? Who are those random people now populating my camera roll? Where did I acquire these mysterious injuries I’ve woken up with? What will I do with my life if I don’t land a highly competitive graduate scheme in this disastrous employment crisis? I’ve just spent my savings on an all-inclusive holiday to Benidorm, will I be poor forever? Who is this random person in my bed?
My generation has a nasty habit of overthinking questions like these, allowing them to swarm like a colony of wasps over our heads until we eventually break and burn out. I turn to the fictional woman that helps me keep these thoughts from plaguing me: Rachel Green. Rachel is around 24 or 25 when she first floods into Central Perk, chaotic and stressed in a wedding dress. She’s spoiled, lost and confused as she first appears, nothing like the Rachel we end up with as the series progresses, but everything like a learning and imperfect twenty-something should be. Her almost-marriage falls apart and she feels as though she’s lost everything and is forced to start over, taking a chance at old friendship as she comes for Monica’s help. All at the age of just 24. She stresses that she should have her life together by now, as though there’s a set age and universal rule where we all should know exactly what we’re doing.
I came to a lecture hungover recently and announced it to an acquaintance as an attempt at small talk, and the response was “when are you not hungover?”, as though we have to be perfectly put together in our third year of university. As though the fun has to stop, and a flawless routine has to take charge. I think we’re all so concerned with how our lives are being perceived and how they compare with those of our peers that we can often resort to judgement. It’s easy to see someone who is more hungover than you or has slept in longer than you and feel superior; ‘well, at least I’ve got my life together more than that!’
Some of us are so desperate to have perfect lives, even at such a young age, that the forced perfection and comparison takes away the authenticity. I can have a very productive week, balance work, university and my social life in a way that I’m proud of, and still beat myself up for waking up at 10am or eating my lunch out of the pan. Season one Rachel Green didn’t even know how to be a functioning adult and care for herself, and by the end of season ten she had an impressive career, a supportive social life and a beautiful family, and by that point she was 35!
I’ve decided to put real effort into working on my compulsion to compare my life to that of my peers, because I’ve realised the time someone else wakes up or how many hours of study they’ve done that week has absolutely nothing to do with me, and says nothing about my worth. I know I work hard and balance a busy schedule impressively, and I’m also obscenely optimistic about the future: as much as I understand stressing about graduate schemes and life after university, I can’t help but know it will all work out in the end, it always does. Life works in mysterious ways in a non-linear trajectory, and I always resort back to the beautiful craziness of Rachel Green’s life through the ten years and know it will all work out in the end. Something will come out of the blue and surprise you. But for now, you’re doing absolutely fine, and don’t need to change a thing.
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