Yesterday, a friend of mine mentioned that he’d been hearing the following words from many of his friends.
“I don’t know what to do with my life.”
Often, someone I know will say this with weary resignation, as though they are a literary figure doomed to wander the earth for decades, rootless and without purpose. And if they aren’t resigned, they’re panicking: “I don’t know what to do with my life!”
(You might hear the “panic” version a month before graduation.)