Truth be told, I never gave much thought to my 20s. I grew up watching Friends and New Girl, but I knew that wasn’t going to be my reality. Call it cynicism or realism, but I had a feeling I wasn’t going to end up sharing a loft apartment with four of my best friends where we all somehow managed to pay rent on time despite having jobs that definitely wouldn’t allow for it.
Instead, I assumed my twenties would probably look quieter. Less like a sitcom and more like figuring it out as I went. I know there will be uncertainty and I know how much of your early twenties is spent wondering whether you’re becoming the person you’re supposed to be or just making it up one day at a time.
Last winter, I went through the end of a relationship that was eye-opening in some aspects and affirming in others. It wasn’t the sort of breakup that inspired dramatic movie scenes or bad haircuts, just a lot of quiet reflection and the realization that sometimes the people we outgrow aren’t bad people. They’re simply no longer the people we’re meant to grow alongside.
When spring rolled around, I found myself standing at the edge of a new decade of my life with more questions than answers. I had finished my second year of college, I was about to turn 20, I needed to apply for internships, and return to college in the fall. On paper, it looked like the beginning of an exciting chapter.
Internally, though, I felt like I had lost the plot a little.
I wasn’t exactly unhappy, the future just seemed a little blurry. I knew I wanted to be a journalist, I knew that writing and researching were going to be part of my life, but I didn’t know what capacity I’d be able to achieve that. I realized I had spent so much energy trying to keep moving forward that I’d stopped asking myself what actually made me feel like me.
Then summer came.
I got hired at my hometown newspaper, and for my first day as an intern it felt like the first page of a new chapter. I thought the experience would teach me how to become a better writer and reporter. And it did.
What I didn’t expect was that it would also remind me why I fell in love with stories in the first place. Most mornings brought new assignments. One day I’d be interviewing librarians about children’s summer programs, next, I’d be talking with local artists, nonprofit directors, gardeners, professors, or volunteers who had poured months or decades into something they cared about.
Journalism quickly became so much more than asking questions and writing articles. It was learning how to make a stranger feel comfortable enough to share something meaningful with me. It was discovering which questions encouraged people to open up instead of giving rehearsed answers. It was finding the small human details hidden inside the press releases. Most importantly, it was realizing that every story belonged to someone who trusted me to tell it honestly. That trust isn’t something I take lightly. Every interview ended with me walking away thinking not just about the article I had to write, but about the person who had chosen to spend an hour letting a stranger into a small piece of their life.
By the end of every interview, I found myself genuinely rooting for the people I’d met. The experience reminded me that my curiosity has always been one of my favorite traits about myself. I’ve always been drawn to stories, whether they’re tucked inside novels, hidden in local history archives, or told through video games. I love learning why people make the choices they do and how those choices shape the stories they tell.
Ironically, despite loving stories so much, I hadn’t made time to enjoy one for myself in over a year. One afternoon, almost on a whim, I downloaded an audiobook off Libby.
Then another.
And another.
I spent so many years reading the big names in the gothic genre, i.e., Frankenstein, Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and more. I’ve never considered myself someone who viewed life with a glass half-full sort of perspective. And, seemingly, neither did the authors I read from. Many of the characters I encountered were often plagued by something terrible. Terrible people, terrible circumstances outside of their control, terrible circumstances of their own making, and the thing I respected most was how unafraid many of them were to be terrible.
So imagine my surprise when the genre I gravitated to the most for audiobooks was romance. A genre known for predictable tropes, grand gestures, and ridiculously sweet lines that no human being would ever say outside of fiction.
Apparently all it took to get me out of my reading slump was a change in genre and reading style. It felt strangely comforting. After months of feeling like every spare moment had to be productive, listening to someone tell me a story while I built miniatures, or transcribed interviews reminded me that stories didn’t always have to teach me something or help my GPA. Sometimes they could simply make an ordinary afternoon feel a little less lonely.
The first audiobook I picked up was The Wedding People by Alison Espach. I saw the cover of the book on a BookTok recommendations video and found that it didn’t look like any traditional rom-com book cover I had ever seen. It didn’t depict cartoon illustrations of a man and woman gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes. Instead, it depicted a set of hands sticking out of the deep ocean, one hand holding a bottle of champagne, and the other holding up a peace sign. Here, I found a story that was equal parts heartbreaking, hilarious, and even hopeful. Phoebe Stone, a literature professor, arrives alone at a luxury hotel after several pieces of her life have fallen apart. Instead of finding solitude, she’s unexpectedly swept into a stranger’s wedding week, where awkward conversations and unlikely friendships slowly help her rediscover herself.
I don’t think I realized how much I needed that story until I was listening to it. Like Phoebe, I wasn’t necessarily looking for some life-changing revelation. I just needed a reminder that it’s okay when life doesn’t follow the version you imagined.
My second audiobook, A Heart for Christmas by Sophie Jomain, surprised me for a completely different reason.
Usually, I abhor the practice of skipping Halloween-related events and jumping into Christmas cheer, but this book was available when another one wasn’t and I thought it could be simple nonetheless. Instead I became invested in the life of April, an eighteen-year-old recovering from heart surgery who travels to the French Alps and slowly learns to stop living in fear. Encouraged by her ski instructor, Augustin, she begins taking risks again and allowing herself to experience life instead of simply protecting it.
While our circumstances couldn’t have been more different, I understood that instinct to stay where life feels predictable. I’m the kind of person who can convince herself that staying home is easier than saying yes, that routines are safer than risks. Coming into my early adulthood, I feel a sense of permittance. Like I was allowed to branch out of any kind of the interests I had cornered myself into and not feel out of place for doing so.
By the time I reached Yours Truly by Abby Jimenez, I had started looking forward to transcribing 30+ minute interview notes because it meant another chapter.
The novel follows Dr. Briana Ortiz, whose life seems to be falling apart while she navigates a divorce, worries about her brother’s health, and competes with a new doctor at work, Jacob Maddox. What begins as mutual frustration slowly develops into friendship through handwritten letters, shared lunches, quiet conversations, and countless small acts of kindness. When Jacob becomes a potential kidney donor for Briana’s brother, their connection deepens even further.
More than the romance itself, I loved what the story had to say about healthy relationships. Jacob and Briana don’t fall in love because they were so irresistible to each other and were obsessed at first sight. They build trust slowly, through patience, empathy, and showing up for one another.
By the end of the book, I was starting to have a deeper understanding and respect for the genre. Yes, there are times when it could be tropey and predictable, but the characters can be deep and have their own valid reasons for moving through the world in the ways that they do, even if they realize that they are deserving of better.
Looking back now, this summer wasn’t just about learning how a newsroom operates.
It was about remembering that I’m more than my assignments, deadlines, or future career plans.
It’s easy, especially in college, to believe every hobby has to become a side hustle or every interest has to somehow contribute to your resume. Somewhere along the way, I had convinced myself that reading only counted if it was for class and that my free time needed to be productive.
This summer reminded me that joy can be productive, too. Listening to romance audiobooks didn’t just get me out of a reading slump. It gave me something to look forward to after work. Building tiny bookstores while fictional characters fell in love reminded me that creating things for myself was worthwhile. Spending my days interviewing people throughout my hometown reminded me that every person has a story worth telling if someone is willing to listen.
Like I said, I didn’t have a mood board for what I thought my twenties were going to look like. It’s only now that I’m starting to build one.
It doesn’t include a quirky loft apartment or a coffee shop where the baristas know my order before I say it. Instead, it’s made up of folders full of interviews, 7 books I’m on hold for, an itch to build another miniature, and mornings spent driving to stories that remind me how fascinating ordinary people can be.