No one ever really warned us how hard my college years would hit. By 20, we’re suddenly split right down the middle. One half craves the chaos, the sparkle and glitter that shine and echo in your head after the music fades and the party is over. It craves the moments that feel like a movie and make you feel alive, the ones that you’ll remember and laugh about 10 years from now. The other half craves perfection, it craves being flawless, in routine and the kind of peace that makes you feel anchored in a world that won’t be spinning. For a while, we just convinced ourselves, it’s just a bad week or a bad day, but no matter what side you choose on any given day, there is always a voice in your head whispering, “You’re doing it wrong”
The sparkles and shine of the mirrorball
The first half of being young and 20 is all about the ‘gold rush’. The movie clichès screaming, “You’re only young once, these are your prime years”, echo in your head. So you find yourself saying yes to everything: the last-minute plans, the midnight jamming session, the parties that make life feel euphoric and easy to live.
This side thrives on spontaneity and the rush of excitement that comes along with it, on laughter that echoes through your hostel hallways, on blurry photos which make you want to revisit that moment over and over again. The wild half does not just whisper, it screams, “These are your years, live freely, make them last while you can”
But this chaos isn’t just external; it seeps into the faultlines of your reality. At 20, the thrill or recklessness feels almost necessary. You dye your hair the colour which feels fun, blow your allowances on food and decisions you’ll later make fun of, meet people and know that they’ll be another lesson to you. Because this side of you is almost convinced: if not now, then when?
The calm and the myth of stability
Then comes the other side, the one that craves quiet mornings, slower and healthier routines. This is the version that is obsessed with planning, structure and preparedness.
The calm half knows that the world is competitive and terrifying. It reminds you of every LinkedIn update from your peers: someone got into a top grad school, someone else is interning at your dream company. Suddenly, the wild, chaotic half feels…childish.
This is the side that pulls you to bed early so you can wake up and have breakfast on time, drink water and squeeze in a workout session before class. It’s the half that finds peace in stability, in choosing the boring hostel mess dal and roti over a pizza, in cancelling plans, because your health matters more than one more glittering night.
But stability comes with its own trap: the comparison spiral. While you’re busy trying to “have it together”, someone else has already aced it, and now you’re just stuck feeling you’re always two steps behind: not working hard enough, not saving enough, not achieving enough. The calm doesn’t promise peace; it promises structure. And sometimes this exact structure feels like pressure, but in a prettier packaging.
the clash
Here’s where it gets really messy: these halves do not come in separate waves. They collide, violently.
You go out to a party on a Friday night and regret it on Saturday morning when you’re too tired to work on the project that you’ve been putting off all week. You buy the unhealthy snacks, the pizzas and the desserts, but spend the rest of the month avoiding your bank app. You have fun, but then regret it later because it doesn’t feel okay to just go from all to nothing.
Being 20 feels like a constant fight. Whichever side you’re on, the other one feels neglected. The wild half says, “You’re missing out”. The calm half says, “You’re wasting time”. And you? You’re just stuck in freeze mode, where every decision feels wrong.
The beauty in acceptance of the “in between”
Here’s the secret that no one tells you: the dilemma is the point.
20 isn’t meant to be polished or consistent. It’s supposed to feel contradictory. You’re not failing because you can’t pick between chaos and calm; you’re learning to find your place between both worlds. The adventures teach you spontaneity, courage and the art of living life without regrets. The quiet mornings teach you discipline, grounding, and the importance of taking care of yourself.
Both halves are building you, one mistake, one lesson at a time. And maybe the yin and yang metaphor was always meant for us: darkness doesn’t cancel light, it completes it.
At 20, you’re not meant to be whole. You’re meant to be in progress: messy, complicated and figuring out life one decision at a time.
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