When I was a freshman in college, the older guys in my fraternity smoked cigs on the porch, seemed as big as grizzlies, and would get that off-kilter look in their eye after too many beers, like they were about to play you like an accordion.

It was their job to terrify us younger guys. It was also their job to teach us to respect women, be their for our brothers, and fight for what we believe is right. I’m beyond grateful for those guys. They were men. We were boys, and we trusted them. Yet, in reality, they were twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two.

We were all just kids.

But those times felt so important, causing our world to shrink down to only what we could comprehend. While I was only seventeen, the stress I often felt was like going through a mid-life crisis.

Even in high school, every decision felt like life or death — which college to attend? Which major? Which fraternity?

It didn’t matter. I was there to enjoy myself and maybe even learn something. Life hadn’t even started yet.

Feeling the Pressure

I look in the mirror, and I feel like an adult. I have grey stubble in my beard, I’ve fervently pursued my creativity, I’ve spent a couple of years living in a foreign country, and, well, I’ve battled chronic pain for seven years, dare I say, with grace.

I’m proud of the man I’ve become. Still, at times, I feel like I’m not where I could be.

“The tyranny of thirty has become the most pernicious deadline of our culture,” writes author and executive coach Jason Shen in his Medium article titled The Tyranny of Thirty, “a guillotine over the necks of ambitious twenty-somethings at tech startups in Silicon Valley, artist studios in Bed-Stuy, and influencer houses in West Hollywood.”

While I’ve self-published two books and a magazine in the last five years, I still compare myself to other author’s my age whose books adorn the front of every bookstore, believing if I haven’t done it by now, I’m not good enough.

Comparison

At this age, if not our career, it feels like we’re falling behind if we don’t have a kid, a home or a goddamn six-pack. Are we truly supposed to have our shit figured out by the time we’re thirty?

It seems that way when we’re comparing ourselves not just to our peers, but to literally everybody on the planet.

“Thanks to ever present social media feeds, we are bombarded with images, videos, and stories of young people thriving in every way,” writes Shen in his follow-up article, Your Thirties Aren’t What They Used to Be.

He continues: “Millennials are spending upwards of 2.5 hours per day (3 hours for Gen Z) staring at people who are hotter, smarter, richer, and more adventurous than them every day. Sometimes they’re classmates and colleagues, other times they’re celebrities and influencers. Plus you’re not just competing with your peers — you’re also measuring yourself against where your parents and older mentors were at your age . . .”

The noise is incessant; yet we’re addicted to it.

If it’s not a successful author that I’m comparing myself to, it’s a fitness influencer that has infiltrated my YouTube feed, evoking arbitrary negative thoughts which tell me I should be stronger and leaner.

The obvious comparison machine is Instagram, where for some god-forsaken reason we spend part of our day looking at people from college and high school who now have a baby, a house, a marriage, a cool career that takes them around the world, making us think, is that where I’m supposed to be?

I’m just not ready for it all. I want kids eventually; a family. But while I look in the mirror and see a man, I still feel like a kid. I’m striving to build the foundation for a successful and meaningful life, but I just want to have fun, too.

Technically, I’m still in my twenties. I want to do the things that are made for this time, as I believe throwing caution in the wind, saying yes to spontaneity, and making memories while we’re young is just as worthwhile as any of those other endeavors we deem so important.

“Your 20s are the perfect time to do a few things that are unusual, weird, bold, risky, unexplainable, crazy, unprofitable, and look nothing like ‘success,’” says Kevin Kelly, co-founder of Wired Magazine, on the Rich Roll Podcast.

He continues: “The less this time looks like success, the better it will be as a foundation. For the rest of your life, these orthogonal experiences will serve as your muse and touchstone, upon which you can build an uncommon life.”

Adventure

This weekend I’m heading to a music festival in Colorado where I’ll be camping with my girlfriend and a group of friends.

There’s trepidation, as I’m shaking up the routine with some debauchery that’ll include dancing into the wee hours of the morning, sleeping in a tent, and dipping into some mind-opening substances.

I also know I’m not getting any younger, and if I don’t embrace these experiences now, perhaps in five, ten, thirty years, I’ll regret depriving myself of the pleasures of being young and carefree.

I’m grateful to say I’ve had my fair share of ridiculous adventures in my twenties: musical festivals and late night escapades, good ol’ fashioned partying throughout the world.

More often than not, these experiences have left nothing but hilarious memories and a shortage of brain cells. And while perhaps the next-day-hangover left me anxious and as a sight for sore eyes, it’s always felt worth it.

Because looking back, it’s not the hangovers I remember.

What I recall with a smile is taking a graduation trip to Greece, and watching the sun come up on a Samos rooftop with one of my best friends, a bottle of ouzo between us; I remember my friends and I locking ourselves in a sake trove in a mountain cabin on the Japanese island of Shikoku; I remember traveling to Chiang Mai with a girl I’d just met from Bangkok; and I remember partying all night with my brother in London.

There’s no time like the present to live it up. Yet the present is eternally falling through our grasp.

Meaning

I’m caught between being a mature adult and a carefree kid.

I question if I could be an author whose book is at the front of the bookstore, or if I could make six-figures, or if I could have my own magazine, if I’d give 110% attention to my ambitions without distractions.

I’m drowning in a sea of could’s.

But is that what I truly want?

Naw, not really. Not yet. I want adventure. Meaning. And where does that come from? Not necessarily from grinding away at our work. Rather, a vital source of meaning — one many of us are lacking — comes from experiences.

“Warren Buffett famously says, when it comes to investing, start early to take advantage of the compounding interest of money,” says author Bill Perkins on the podcast Modern Wisdom, “I say the same thing with experiences. Start early to take advantage of the compounding memory dividend.”

The memory dividend, Perkins explains, is the interest on fulfillment that we accrue from certain memories for the rest of our lives.

So if we have a fundamental positive memory at a music festival, say, when we’re twenty-nine years old, then there’s potentially fifty to seventy (I’m optimistic) years of compounding interest on that memory, as we may relive it repeatedly throughout the years.

Perkins made his money as a hedge fund manager and a high stakes poker player — he’s a multi-millionaire — without a doubt a “successful” person in the worldly interpretation of success. That’s what makes his advice so captivating.

“There are certain activities that I would pay an inordinate amount of money to get, certain experiences that I gave up when I was saving when I was in my 20s,” Perkins says on the podcast.

He continues, “My friend borrowed money from a loan shark and went backpacking through Europe. How many millions would I pay to have taken that trip right now? So that I would have all those memory dividends, and that experience, and those friends, and that adventure that belonged in that time period of my life. I would have those memories and I’d be telling interesting stories on this podcast, except now I’m an uninteresting guy telling boring stories.”

Perkins is literally pissed at himself on the podcast for not having more fun when he was young. He was so worried about saving money, and, well, that mentality probably made him rich in the end. But was it worth it? Maybe not.

Life Has Only Just Begun

I’m not afraid of getting older. I’m excited, man. I’ve heard many people say their thirties are their favorite decade.

“Your twenties give you a chance to build skills, relationships, and a track record while pursuing narratives largely imposed on you by others,” writes Jason Shen. “Your thirties are about learning who you truly are, finding people to cherish and sacrifice for, and orienting your life towards a mission that truly matters to you. That is a process that cannot be rushed and is worth waiting for.”

If that’s the case, then it feels like I’m on track.

I’m not saying I want to be done with the all-nighters and spontaneous hedonism. It’ll just become more infrequent, and what will take its place is more wholesome experiences with the people I love, with less drinking and more connecting, less fear and more faith, less anxiety the next day, and more clarity.

But I’m still twenty-nine. I don’t want to rush my life. I want to cherish every season of it, as I know I’m still in the early stages of this journey. Take it from the Swiss psychiatrist Carl Jung, one of the most brilliant minds of all time:

“Life really does begin at forty. Up until then, you are just doing research.”

I look back on who I was in college, and I seemed so young. God, I wish I just relaxed more and enjoyed every second. Of course, in ten, twenty, thirty years, I’ll be saying the same thing about the decade prior.

I was thirty. Forty. Fifty. Life had only just begun.