-Essay-
BERLIN — Arm-in-arm, two young women leap onto the dance floor one summer evening, moving to the beat of the Italopop classic “Sarà perché ti amo”. On TikTok, white letters flash across the screen: “Money will come back but we will never be 20 again dancing with strangers in Italy at midnight.” Irritated, I keep swiping; I can no longer stand these videos with their teabag slogans: the money will come back, but we are only young once. I can’t bear watching these people in South Korea, Thailand or Ibiza performing a kind of bliss supposedly reserved for our age.
I’m 24 and working on my master’s degree. When I read “money comes back,” all I can think is: What money? I need to concentrate on my career to earn anything at all. I have neither the budget nor the time for wild trips around the world. I spent my two weeks of summer vacation before an internship in Paris with a friend, keeping costs manageable. I wasn’t looking for unforgettable nights of partying. I just wanted some rest.
The money-comes-back crowd my age seem to have far more money and free time than I do. They are always out at fancy restaurants, living in stunning apartments with their perfect partners. Everyone appears to be living the dream. And I feel the sting of FOMO, the fear of missing out. Not just missing out on anything, but on the supposed high point of my life. I keep asking myself: What did I do wrong that so many others are having the time of their lives, while my studies drain me like a full-time job, and I am too exhausted in the evenings to do more than scroll through TikTok?
Even if I’m only seeing the illusion of happiness in these clips, I wonder: Could the real best years still be ahead, once the whole cycle of school, university, and career starts is finally behind me?
Chasing an illusion
Meadows and cities flick past the train window while these questions circle in my mind. I’m on my way home; my mother is celebrating her birthday. A weekend lies ahead with seasoned experts who know more about the different phases of life because they are two or three times my age: my family. Maybe they have some answers. During the three-hour journey, I start reading up on the subject.
The so-called best time of life is, it turns out, a contested area of research. Since the 1950s, the prevailing idea has been a U-shaped curve of happiness: People are happiest until their mid-20s and again from around 60 onwards, with a slump in between.
I’ve already been told countless times that the best time was just around the corner.
Critics argue that because unhappy people tend to die earlier and the frailties of old age are overlooked, the curve is misleading. Last year, a U.S. study announced: the U-curve is over. Now the opposite seems to be true: Young people are no longer the happiest but the least happy.
So where does that leave us? Spanish researchers found in 2021 that the odds of experiencing one’s happiest years are highest between 30 and 34. In the same year, Munich sociologist Fabian Kratz calculated that, statistically, the prime of life is at 18.
I almost laughed out loud reading that on the train. My 18th year was anything but the best of times. I had no idea what I wanted in life, so I went along with everything just to be safe. Clubs were too loud for conversation, too stuffy, too pricey. But I thought I’d look uncool if I didn’t go. Only later did I realize I didn’t have to force myself. And that I wanted to spend time only with people who accepted it when I said no.
The conflicting research points to one thing above all: The best time of life is highly individual and complex. This is also obvious to me because, at 24, I’ve already been told countless times that the best time was just around the corner. High school graduation, so carefree! University, so much freedom! The Erasmus semester, such a fresh start! But just because it was golden for others doesn’t mean it was for me. In fact, every phase has had its own joys. Maybe the superlatives are unnecessary.
Ask the boomers
I arrive at the train station, ready to conduct some family-based happiness research. That evening, sitting in front of the television, I ask my father, 64, what his best time was. “My 40s,” he says, “because I had already achieved something back then, and knew where I stood.” “And because I was born then, right?” I reply. He laughs.
The next evening, at my mother’s birthday barbecue, I hit the jackpot: 10 Boomers around the table. “When was your best time?” I ask after dinner. Silence. Most seem to have never thought about it. The person next to me mutters: “It really depends on the stage of life.” Fair enough.
“Definitely not my 20s,” says one of my parents’ friends. “More like between 30 and 40.”
My grandfather, the oldest at 91, later brings a completely different number into play: “When we were 50, we partied a lot. Always after choir practice, sometimes until 2 a.m. It was great fun.” Interesting that, like the TikTok crowd, he also associates the best time of his life with nights of revelry. Money may come back, but we will never be 50 again dancing with friends at midnight.
The difference is, there was no social media then. Of course, people can stage themselves in real life, too. But I notice how constant comparison takes its toll on me. Even knowing how fake much of it is, other people’s performances of happiness still get under my skin, which may also dampen my own sense of joy.
Finding your own prime
I want to talk about this with someone who has spent decades studying the happiness and unhappiness of young people: youth researcher Klaus Hurrelmann, 81. When I tell him on the phone about TikTok dancers proclaiming that money will always come back, he is not surprised.
Social media is simply a “false promise,” he says. My generation is being sold the idea that with endless possibilities, we can be happier than ever. “But it creates a constant state of comparison and an ideal that is unattainable in real life for 99% of people.” We end up unhappier as we watch others supposedly reach their bliss. At the same time, Hurrelmann says, we face a series of “developmental challenges”: society expects academic achievement, the right career path, a solid income, a stable relationship, and strong political convictions. That is a lot to juggle if you also want to feel happy.
I have no need for a so-called prime time.
But the expert also offers encouragement. There are always several high points in life, he says, and only in retrospect can you decide which was the best. More important is to get to know yourself in your 20s and set your own standards. “Other people may have different strengths than I do. But I am who I am.”
The truth is, I am content. I like my studies, the people in my ordinary life, and my two weeks of low-budget summer vacation in Paris. At the moment, I have no need for a so-called prime time. I can imagine doing what my father did: I am betting on my 40s, when I have a steady job and a permanent lease. And when I look back at 91, I will probably romanticize my youth and think: all that hustle and bustle in my 20s really was wonderful.