-For generations, twentysomethings have asked themselves, “What am I doing with my life?”  Historically, the answer came after much introspection – you determined your interests and goals and figured out a plan to pursue them.  Over the past few years, however, I have begun to encounter many peers who are unable to follow this age-old path.  Why?  Because they have absolutely no interests or goals.  Mind you, these people are not stupid or lazy, but, for whatever reason, they never developed a calling for anything other than, well, just sorta hanging out.  Every day, more and more twentysomethings discover they have a passion for not having a passion.  I call these lost souls the Ambivalents.

-Ambivalents can be easily spotted.  In high school, they had a tough time coming up with a topic for their college application essay (and usually defaulted to the pedestrian “I was sad when my grandma died” angle).  In college, they couldn’t choose a major because they couldn’t fathom anything they’d possibly like to study.  And older Ambivalents can be identified by the comically vague “interests” they list on the bottom of their resumes, typically: Working Out, Travel, and Spending Time with Friends.

-Fortunately, Ambivalents have an organization that allows them to congregate with like-minded individuals – grad school (or as I call it: the get-out-of-life-free card).  I love that grad school actually gives you a countdown to when you have to start making decisions again.  My friend is in some crazy eight-year Ph.D. program so when she started in 2001 she was assigned an email address with her graduation year – 2009.  I also love when grad school Ambivalents encounter classmates who actually care, and then complain that these “dorks” actually do all the reading.  I mean, you can rightfully bitch about that when you’re a snarky undergrad, but if a married dude getting his Master’s wants to constantly raise his hand in class, I say just let the poor guy be.

-Of course, it is possible to be too enthusiastic about your interests.  For instance, my buddy Shappy, a music aficionado, once went to 100 concerts in 100 days.  I’m sorry, but that’s sounds horrible.  You couldn’t pay me to do anything, no matter how amazing – fuck, party, sit in a luxury box at Yankee Stadium – for 100 days in a row.  It’d be exhausting and I’d miss too many episodes of “Heroes.”