a field guide to feeling lost in your twenties

(or any decade, really)

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One spring afternoon in San Diego, I sat cross-legged on the couch, opened my laptop, and typed “feeling lost in your twenties?” into Google. Birds chirped outside.

My web browser offered a handful of BuzzFeed quizzes.

After glancing through What your favorite dessert says about the European city you should live in, I opened a new window and typed “movies about being lost in your twenties??”, watched the first 20 minutes of The Graduate, shut my laptop, flopped on the floor, and stared at the ceiling.

Up until now, my life had been guided by straightforward plan called School. As a college graduate suddenly in charge of my own destiny, my newfound freedom was, of course, a gift — but I also found it completely overwhelming. It was like sitting down at a restaurant with an encyclopedic menu when the waiter comes over, notepad in hand, to take your order:

“And where would you like to live, madam? Spain, maybe? Seattle? Sydney? And what would you like to DO? Wait tables, perhaps, and paint watercolors on the side? Suit up for a proper career? Get another degree? You know, I’ve heard good things about Peace Corps. It’s one of our most popular entrées. If you’re not too hungry, I could suggest nannying…ah! I know! I think you’d really enjoy a Buddhist monastery. It’s tonight’s special, quite delicious. And have you thought about dessert?”

I wanted to try everything, especially since a global pandemic had slimmed our choices for so long. Now, international borders were creaking open, and for the first time in two years we had options. Beyond crusty old bread, we could choose from delicious-looking dishes like Thai curry and Japanese ramen and stuffed French toast. I wanted to try them all.

So when my remote job offered me the opportunity to travel while working, I didn’t hesitate. In January 2022, I packed my bags, laptop first, and leapt out the door.

First, I tagged along on my parents’ sabbatical in Chile, exploring volcanic lakes, rainbow alleyways, glacier-tipped peaks. Then I flew solo to Costa Rica, working from a teeny room on a dusty road and logging off each evening just in time to slap on a bikini, run across the street, and dive into the pastel foam at sunset. Now I was subletting a sunny room in San Diego, walking distance from my office. In a few weeks, I’d head to New York to visit friends and attend a conference on the East Coast.

But as May approached, the novelty of it all gave way to something else: an uncertainty, unease, a scattered-ness. Both working and traveling at full speed was taking a toll. I got giardia in Costa Rica, and the stomach flu in San Diego. In New York, I was switching constantly between friends’ beds, AirBnbs, conference hotels; my brain started to spin on a hamster wheel, unable to rest, and my insomnia came rushing back.

I also missed community: moving so much meant sacrificing depth for breadth. I met so many wonderful people and caught a glimpse of so many beautiful places, but that was it: a meeting, a glimpse. I planted myself tentatively, knowing my roots would soon be pulled out.

The menu was limitless, and I wanted to sample it all, but that strategy came with a price. And now, instead of exciting, the vast plain of the future felt paralyzing.

I felt like we had been racehorses, training for the day we’d be released from the stables. Then we were stalled for two years, scratching our heads and baking banana bread and learning TikTok dances until unceremoniously, half-heartedly, we were released. But the painted lines of the racetracks were faint, diluted by two years of weather. People kind of forgot how the races worked; we had to forge our own paths and trust they would lead to the right place.

As I exhausted myself, I stopped feeling like a racehorse and more like, in the words of Katy Perry, a plastic bag drifting through the wind. With one foot planted in an Important Career and the other reaching its toes to explore new corners of the earth, I was stretched thin: untethered, unmoored, floating — which, at first, had been what I wanted. 

But now I just felt very lost.

And then one day, I was struck by a flash of excitement. It zipped through my body.

I leapt up to catch it: I ran to a café, ordered a mug of tea, and started scribbling. On a paper napkin. Frantically, like Picasso in the throes of creative genius.

In the corner, the napkin read: “Quit my job?!!!” Letters expanded into a timeline. In the margins, I scrawled potential goals, budgets, dreams.

This napkin changed my life.

Its message was simple but felt revolutionary: my soul was asking if we could take a pause to rediscover our freedom and creativity and joy. (And who was I to tell her no?!) After the heaviness of the past two years, both personally and globally, dropping my responsibilities and hitting the road sounded like the most wonderful idea in the world.

That night, I slept soundly for the first time in months.

But if I wasn’t careful, the electric buzz of excitement — and peace of mind that comes with choosing a direction — was easily extinguished by a drizzle of what ifs, but are you sures, and have you thought abouts. Anxiety and doubt had some good points.

And so we had arrived at a decision-making crossroads: To Quit or Not To Quit.

On the one hand, I loved my job. I loved my coworkers. But my heart was no longer in it. My heart was saying, hey lady, we won’t be able to do anything else very well unless you tend to ME first. Or else we will just keep on drifiting like a plastic bag. 

And then my mind would say, THAT IS CRAZY!!! You have a dream job! We might be headed for a recession! You think your savings will get you through a whole recession?! And you’d throw it all away just to have a Julia Roberts moment à la Eat Pray Love?!!

And then my heart would say: …yes?

This stretched into agonizing months of back-and-forth. With an internal battle in full swing, I sought answers elsewhere: I hiked to the bookstore and left with a Quarter Life Crisis Stack of titles including The Alchemist, When Things Fall Apart, and Why Has No One Told Me This Before? The cashier played it very cool, hardly lifting an eyebrow.

When I got home, I plopped them on my desk, ready to dive in with highlighters. But they mostly sat and gathered dust. I glanced at them every day, leafed through a few chapters. A wiser part of me must have known the answers weren’t hidden there.

Instead, I found them in three other places: my intuition, my curiosity, and signs from the universe. Before you stop reading, I am so serious! Like, heart-attack-serious! I think signs from the universe are mysterious and completely legitimate bases for making gigantic life decisions.

When I have followed them, they have led me to the most magical and unexpected places.

The first burst of signs happened in April. I was searching for places to digital-nomad next, and had heard good things about Lisbon. The next day, I started seeing the city everywhere: the wine I picked out at Trader Joe’s was feito em Lisboa; the barista who poured my coffee greeted me with stories from his incredible vacation in Lisbon, his favorite place in the world; when I opened Instagram, everyone was checking in from Portugal. For one whole week, Lisbon was staring me in the face. It would have been rude to ignore it.

Then I started pondering my job. The first small message appeared in an evening yoga class: as the instructor guided us, she mentioned the new moon, which encourages us to let go of what no longer serves us in order to create space for the new — even if that means making big changes. OK, sure. But as I walked home, watching sunset over the hills, I overheard someone’s radio out an open window: “...well, QUIT YOUR JOB, and…” — I froze in my tracks.

An important distinction here is that for me, signs only appear after I’ve had the idea myself, when it’s being considered. They help me make my choice and confirm I’m on the right path. They won’t tell me what to do, but they’ll nudge me in the right direction.

Sometimes they are a little muddy, requiring interpretation — but these felt more like a direct line to The Universe. And the more I paid attention, the more all these small messages built up into one HUGE signpost that smacked me in the face.

Maybe they were an odd string of coincidences, but I also felt curious and excited about the idea of quitting my job and exploring Europe. My gut feeling agreed. I had set aside bits of many paychecks to save up for an adventure like this. I had just sold my car. And if not now…when?

So I tucked my fear under my arm, said I hear you, but trust me on this one!, turned in my laptop, stepped on a plane, and my life changed in ways I never could have predicted. I’ve fallen in love, backpacked around Asia, camped in the desert in Africa, started a blog to chronicle it all…and all because of those teeny little signs from the universe. I trusted them, which really meant that I trusted myself.

So — if you’re feeling lost, dear reader, make a list of potential possibilities! The sky is the limit! The beauty of where you are is that you get to pick a new direction. Once you have a few ideas, keep paying attention to those little synchronicities.

To paraphrase Rumi: “Take a step, and the path will appear.” It’s easy to get caught up in what the right step is, where it will lead, but the only way to know is through movement. By taking action, you set the universe in motion, and the path unfolds before you.

Notice what makes you feel most excited, warm, and curious. Drop into the wisdom of your body. The mind is a good tool, but it can be a bit crazy-making when enlisted in big decisions. Pro-con lists can only get you so far. So as you consider certain paths, listen: what feels warm and exciting? Move towards that. What feels cold and closed off? Your body is infinitely wise. Give it the chance to speak to you.

Another way-finding tool I love is Elle Luna’s concept of Should vs. Must. I’ll let you read this one for yourself. It’s so good. When I was feeling lost at university in Los Angeles, it helped me make the leap to Australia, which was one of the best risks I’ve ever taken in my whole entire life. The concept of Should vs. Must has yet to steer me wrong.

By Elle Luna for Medium

The New York Times, of course, also has brilliant thoughts to offer on decision-making. The gist of it: stop thinking about what you should do, and start thinking about the person you want to be. What kind of decision would he or she make?

As someone who loves to sample all the menu options, I’m working on picking something and sticking to it (for a while, at least). There are so many delicious paths to take in this world, but I know I’ll miss out on their full magic if I am constantly chasing something else, wondering what if, eyeing the plate next to mine. 

After a whirlwind year of travel, I’m excited to live somewhere long enough to know it intimately: for neighbors to become close friends, for the barista to know my coffee order, for life to bloom in the way it does when you are planted. I want to walk through the same park each morning and notice the leaves change.

I still don’t know where the path will lead, but I’m excited to take some steps.

In the vast constellation of the human experience, getting lost from time to time is inevitable — so if you have any other life-orienting wisdom to add, please share it below! I’d love to know how else y’all get your bearings when the landscape of living becomes unfamiliar. ❤️

Xo,

Eden

What else is on…

• Next week, I’m interviewing one of my favorite artists ever! She’s amazing and I’ve had a girl crush on her for years. Eeeeep! Keep an eye out! 👀

• I left my cleanser in London two weeks ago and haven’t washed my face since, and my skin is….completely fine?! Better than ever? Is skincare a hoax? Can anyone weigh in?!

• Some next steps we’re considering are New York, London, and Australia — if anyone has tips or suggestions, let us know!