Us young people move around too much. Between starting out at home, going to college, possibly coming back home, moving to some other city where there are actually jobs or just to keep yourself from going insane in your small hometown – you just don’t spend enough time with anyone to accumulate any deep personal friendships with people that you can only really achieve by sharing a history with them. And politics is right out the window, because being an effective organizer means developing long-term relationships in a way that probably takes even more time and work than it takes to make friends.
(Eventually your comrades end up as your friends, and you drift away from the others from simple lack of time for everyone. True life.)
I can’t date anyone because that would probably involve sex at some point but half of us live with our parents for economic reasons. A lot of us are in this situation but too many of us are embarrassed about it anyway even if a lot of other people are going through it – the very person you might be afraid to ask out because you live with their parents may, in fact, also live with their parents and would not judge you at all. But you cannot know that. Virgina Woolf’s A Room of One’s Own has gone from being just a feminist statement to the anxiety of a fucking generation.
When people ask me what my job is I don’t know what to tell them, I’ve changed it so many times. I used to be unemployed. Now I’m sort of part-time employed while I figure shit out. I’m also “in school” sometimes too, that never seems to end either. When exactly “figuring shit out” ends and “life” begins I don’t have any clue, but it sure feels like my entire life is on hold until the first phase is taken care of. This, of course, is not just torture for Millennials ourselves, but may turn out to be a huge macro-economic problem.