Young adults -- Life skills guides |
Quality of life |
Self-actualization (Psychology) |
Life, Quality of |
Growth, Personal |
Personal growth |
Self-improvement |
Self-realization (Psychology) |
Available:
Library | Shelf Number | Shelf Location | Status |
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Searching... Foxboro - Boyden Library | 646.7008 BYOCK | NEW NONFICTION | Searching... Unknown |
Searching... Seekonk Public Library | 646.7 BYOCK | NONFICTION | Searching... Unknown |
Searching... Taunton Public Library | 646.700842 B995Q | 2ND FLOOR STACKS | Searching... Unknown |
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Summary
Summary
An innovative psychotherapist tackles the overlooked stage of Quarterlife--the years between adolescence and midlife--and provides a "fascinating" guide "on how to navigate and thrive--rather than just survive--these odd years" ( PureWow ).
" Quarterlife is an insightful, revealing look at the messy and uncharted paths to wholeness, and a powerful tool for anyone navigating early adulthood."--Tembi Locke, New York Times bestselling author of From Scratch
I'm stuck. What's wrong with me? Is this all there is? Satya Doyle Byock hears these refrains regularly in her psychotherapy practice where she works with "Quarterlifers," individuals between the ages of (roughly) sixteen to thirty-six. She understands their frustration. Some clients have done everything "right": graduate, get a job, meet a partner. Yet they are unfulfilled and unclear on what to do next. Byock calls these Quarterlifers "Stability Types." Others are uninterested in this prescribed path, but feel unmoored. She refers to them as "Meaning Types."
While society is quick to label the emotions and behavior of this age group as generational traits, Byock sees things differently. She believes these struggles are part of the developmental journey of Quarterlife, a distinct stage that every person goes through and which has been virtually ignored by popular culture and psychology.
In Quarterlife , Byock utilizes personal storytelling, mythology, Jungian psychology, pop culture, literature, and client case studies to provide guideposts for this period of life. Readers will be able to find themselves on the spectrum between Stability and Meaning Types, and engage with Byock's four pillars of Quarterlife development:
* Separate: Gain independence from the relationships and expectations that no longer serve you
* Listen: Pay close attention to your own wants and needs
* Build: Create, cultivate, and construct tools and practices for the life you want
* Integrate: Take what you've learned and manifest something new
Quarterlife is a defining work that offers a compassionate roadmap toward finding understanding, happiness, and wholeness in adulthood.
Reviews (2)
Publisher's Weekly Review
Psychotherapist Byock's perceptive debut offers young adults guidance on how "to find and create one's own life and purpose in a complex and deeply fraught world." Defining "Quarterlife" as "the first part of adulthood," from ages 16 to 36, Byock explores this phase by examining cultural depictions of it and dissecting four case studies informed by Byock's therapy practice. The author studies how the protagonist of the Grimm brothers' story "The Three Languages" struggles to find his place in the world and, like many Quarterlifers, follows the trajectory of the "Hero's Journey," undergoing transformation through experience. The author posits that there are two types of Quarterlifers: "Meaning Types" who snub the responsibility and routine of adulthood but struggle to find financial security, and "Stability Types" who are "comforted by their ability to conform to social norms" but often neglect their "buried desires and needs." The key is to balance the two tendencies, which Byock illustrates with an in-depth case study of Conner, a Stability Type composite character of the author's clients who develops an identity independent of his parents' expectations after a series of heart-to-hearts with them. The detailed case studies provide useful illustration for Byock's ideas, though her contention that there is "no checklist for surviving and thriving in Quarterlife" means there's not much practical advice. Still, young adults will appreciate Byock's compassionate articulation of Quarterlife's challenges. (July)
Guardian Review
The term "quarterlife" was coined more than two decades ago by Abby Wilner, co-author (with Alexandra Robbins) of Quarterlife Crisis: The Unique Challenges of Life in Your Twenties. Although psychotherapist Satya Doyle Byock's Quarterlife: The Search for Self in Early Adulthood credits Wilner with the neologism, it also often gives the impression that the struggle and quest for purpose in early adulthood is something its author has discovered; a therapeutic specialism of her own creation, rather than, say, a juncture of individual human uncertainty you can read about in the Bible. Indeed, a key argument of the author, who practises in Portland, Oregon, is that quarterlife is "overlooked" and underexplored. The marketing blurb describes her focus as an area that has been "virtually ignored by popular culture and psychology". This fails immediately when you consider that some of the most critically acclaimed cultural successes of the recent past (Lena Dunham's Girls, Phoebe Waller-Bridge's Fleabag, Christopher Storer's The Bear) explore this territory. Then there's the "adulting" memes that abound, or how Taylor Swift's astute observations on growing up have made her a global superstar. There was even an NBC sitcom based on twentysomethings called¿ Quarterlife. It's a gnawing incongruence: the big pitch that Doyle Byock has alighted on a brand new phase of development psychology, then mentioning a Bildungsroman or quoting a thinker that proves the opposite. Where her book does differ, however, from much traditional professional discourse - and, most refreshingly, from an attitude in certain modern quarters that has given rise to the word "snowflake" as an insult - is that she is absolutely on the quarterlifers' side (they are defined here as "roughly" ages 16 to 36, although in an interview she gave to NPR, it was 20 to 40). If you're going to write that 'crippling anxiety and depression are effectively the norm', you need to point to some research Her kindness, warmth and empathy frequently come across. She's bang on about how woefully underprepared many young people are for life admin, and the spiral of shame to which this can lead. And, at 40 - an upper-end millennial - she gets it, and that's a validating thing for readers who have become accustomed to brickbats from their elders. Quarterlifers, according to Doyle Byock, come in two different flavours: "meaning" types and "stability" types. The former tend to be more adventurous, creative, spiritual. They are "likely to be artists" and travellers, but struggle with mundane tasks and are not particularly grounded. The latter are more likely to have a good job and relationship locked down, but perhaps wonder, as Peggy Lee put it: is that all there is? If that binary sounds simplistic, that's because it is. But it doesn't follow that it is wholly devoid of truth or use. The work that the author does with her clients - and encourages readers to undertake - is to identify which of the two types feels most accurate, and to then improve balance between them in a bid for a more coherent, happier whole. This process includes going through, in whichever order, "four pillars of growth": Separate (from, for example, oppressive parents or a romantic partner); listen (to one's own needs); build (making life plans and working towards goals); and integrate (put this all into practice to "manifest something new"). An expository narrative is structured around four fictionalised, composite case studies. There's Conner, the Adderall-abusing college dropout; Grace, the lesbian runaway in a co-dependent relationship; Mira, the married and successful but unfulfilled lawyer; and Danny, the stifled writer with a porn addiction. Yes, I know, this all sounds rather like a YA novel. The book, then, sits somewhere between self-help and academic treatise. There is potential disappointment for readers keen on the former, because of a lack of a workbook element with explicit exercises (although there are descriptions of techniques that Doyle Byock uses in-session). And Quarterlife cannot succeed as the latter, given its limited historical, economic and societal context, despite the fact the author mentions more than once - correctly - that people and their problems do not exist in a vacuum. The extraordinary lack of wider detail seems to be down to Doyle Byock's desire to impress that the quarterlife phase is not limited to a particular era, and because her parameters are so nebulous. While the "teenager" may have been ushered into being by postwar advertisers, decades after G Stanley Hall's maturation theory (neither of which are looked at here), people between the ages of 20 and 40 have always existed. The book's concluding chapter reads like a draft for a much better book It doesn't make sense for Doyle Byock to acknowledge, for instance, the high cost of living, or the rapid pace of technological change, or issues of race and gender, which affect present-day quarterlifers¿ and then not examine any of it properly. Why not, instead of a throwaway line on quarterlifers' "constant relationship to digital devices" right at the end of the book, delve into - off the top of my head - the algorithmic experiments of corporations such as Meta to manipulate users' emotions, or the ways in which these products are designed to encourage dependency in young people? Why not actually broach the late-00s global recession, a massive, defining influence on the economic circumstances that have so screwed the exact target audience of this book, rather than just vaguely mentioning that wages are low and adults are leaving home later? Similarly, if you're going to write that "crippling anxiety and depression are effectively the norm" on the first page, you need to point to some research that provides a convincing case and, furthermore, at least try to work out and explain why and how that is. (And, ideally, attempt to unpick the difference between poor mental health and mental illness.) There isn't a single statistic or clinical study; there's zero science. While mainstream publishers are no doubt cognisant of what I'll call the Stephen Hawking rule (each equation included halves sales), at times I felt like a maths teacher writing "show your working out" in the margins. Perhaps most frustrating is that the concluding chapter reads like a draft for a much better book, broad brushing as it does all of the issues the author has left out. There's a first and singular reference to neurodivergence. An allusion to climate anxiety. It's a sort of literary "here's what you could have won!" Unfortunately, it's too late.
Excerpts
Excerpts
CHAPTER 1 Something Better Than This My interest in this time of life began as I neared my college graduation. I couldn't help but notice that practically everyone in my class was uncertain about their future. Except for the calm and happy few who had jobs lined up or were headed to law school, the scene felt like Godzilla had suddenly arrived on our shores. Some people started to panic and were throwing themselves in one direction or another, seeking some plan, any plan, to survive. Some seemed utterly resigned, as if they'd determined that their best days were in the past. Others still were partying a little too maniacally, as if they believed that keeping the college life going would make the enormous threat disappear. Up until that point, we'd studied, written papers, and taken tests. We'd played sports, protested, partied, eaten lunch together in the cafeteria, and lain out on the vast lawn when it wasn't raining. We were occupied almost all of the time, but we were focused on getting through school and getting to graduation. Each class had deadlines and tests. Each semester led into the next one, until graduation day itself reached only after a last round of finals and preparation for visiting family. It happened quickly. Suddenly, here we were: finishing nearly two decades of school with very little direction on what to do afterward. Ample attention had been spent on how to get us into college and on sales pitches for which schools to attend, but now we weren't customers anymore, just a bunch of people in our early twenties being tossed from the academic nest with no instruction other than: Go. Go on. That's all we have for you. I felt no clearer about what I was doing with my life than I had in high school. Most of the time when I expressed my existential protestations, they fell on deaf ears. This was just "the way things are," and I would "figure it out." I found myself reflecting on one of the last scenes in the beloved rom-com of my youth Say Anything . When I was a lovesick teenager, the scene that I'd replay over and over was of Lloyd Dobler holding a boombox above his head, like Romeo wooing his Juliet. (Of course, I also listened to the song he was playing, "In Your Eyes" by Peter Gabriel, on repeat.) But as I neared graduation, another scene from that movie started to creep into my consciousness. Diane Court, class valedictorian and Lloyd's Juliet, delivers a speech to a throng of fellow graduates and parents with whirring video cameras. She says at the end, "I have all the hope and ambition in the world. But when I think about the future, the truth is . . . I am really . . . scared." That was me in a nutshell. All the ambition in the world, and undeniably, utterly scared. Three years after graduation, I was working as a project manager at a software start-up in downtown Portland. Between this job and college, I'd tried to devote myself to a career in humanitarian work or social justice. I'd applied to countless nonprofit jobs and had volunteered a couple of times abroad, first at a prison in Bogotá, Colombia, and then on the tsunami-ravaged coastline in Sri Lanka. I'd also worked various part-time, entry-level jobs to pay my bills. And in the early days of both "social entrepreneurship" and social media I'd tried to start a company that would connect young people like myself with opportunities to help communities at home and abroad. (Hence the foray into start-ups and tech.) This project manager gig was my first well-paid, full-time job since graduating, and I was grateful to suddenly have a savings account. But I wasn't happy. Beyond financial survival, I was no closer to understanding "the point" of what I was doing, nor did I feel like I was living a life destined for me. I had a "good job" and was grateful for that, but I was helping to build an entirely uninspiring tech product seemingly born from the connections of an old boys' club rather than any genuine vision or need. Most days, I stared out the window at the summer sky from twenty-six floors up wishing that I were on the ground and on my bike instead. I had attempted to create a life for myself that made sense to my insides and also made an impact on the world, but I was failing. This wasn't what I'd envisioned for my future. This couldn't be the purpose of all I'd been working toward in so many years of school. I spent a lot of time journaling back then and wrote about my perpetual sense of disorientation. I wrote about all the wild animals that seem to have some form of navigation built into their instincts. Like how when male wolves leave their pack and venture into the world, they appear to have a sense of direction and purpose. Or how elephants find water, no matter the distance. Turtles find the gulf streams in the ocean and know when and where to lay their eggs on the beach. Monarch butterflies migrate thousands of miles along the same route. But we humans are going it alone, relying completely on plans, goals, strategy, and blind luck to find our way in life. What happened to our instincts? Despite a comfort with logic in school and the world, that kind of intentional planning had never come easily to me when it was applied to my own life. No matter how much I wrote it down or talked it out, I struggled to understand what the right decisions were, and to hear what my body and feelings were telling me. I had the freedom to roam anywhere, but I usually felt more like a miserable tiger trapped in a cage, pacing back and forth--and a little "too" reactive--than a creature wild and free. After work one evening, I stepped into the white bungalow I shared with roommates, panting and exhausted from a fast bike ride home in the late summer heat. It had been a rough week. There had been layoffs at my office and the best people around me, many of whom I managed, had suddenly lost their jobs. Meanwhile, all of the most loathsome people had been retained, including the predatory chief executive and his little brother, whose lack of skill radiated off of him like a stench. I knew I had no desire to continue in that environment. I was helping to build a product in which I had no faith, now surrounded by people whom I didn't respect. I was supposed to be filled with the eagerness for life that people expected of someone my age, but I was losing inspiration day by day and losing faith in the life I'd hoped to live. As I began telling my roommates about my day and a conversation with my boss in which he tried to convince me not to quit, I suddenly burst into heaving sobs and collapsed onto the floor. I'd reached my breaking point. I had no idea what I was doing with my life and couldn't, despite advice, stop thinking about it. I felt nauseous from competing beliefs and looming decisions to make: Quit the stupid tech job; wait for the stock options; go back to multiple part-time jobs; take the opportunity for advancement; gain experience; take time off; grow through the pain. None of it provided clarity about my eventual goal. I knew I wasn't interested in having children, and the idea of marriage still felt a long way away. Was my goal, then, to just accumulate wealth and climb the ranks in a company? No matter where I looked, all I saw were dead ends. I couldn't quiet my mind. I couldn't find my center. I felt totally overwhelmed, exhausted, and also painfully bored by the emptiness of my concerns. Nothing I was doing was making a dent in a world in perpetual crisis. Nothing I was doing was bringing me a clear sense of joy or purpose. Crying on that wooden floor, I felt crazy and stuck. As a college grad and a twentysomething, I was supposed to be thriving. What was wrong with me? Despite my lack of clarity on almost every front, I started to see patterns in the suffering, or posturing, around me. From my roommates to friends, dates, former classmates, and co-workers, I was surrounded by people more or less my age who were struggling in similar ways. Some of my peers were having a much harder time than I was. Some were in and out of hospitals with complex diagnoses, and some were even on suicide watch. Many others, though, appeared much more stable than I felt. They didn't seem regularly on the brink of sabotaging the very foundations of their life because of existential concerns. They didn't seem plagued by What does it all mean? But they also didn't seem entirely certain of what they were doing either. Not only had few of us received lessons on how to handle the myriad things in our independent lives--job hunting, budgeting, taxes, dating, sex, boundaries, cooking, cleaning--but it also seemed like we were supposed to be fine and, in many cases, were being told to be fine. Mental health crises, depression, and anxiety seemed sort of hush-hush, while jokes about the supposed shallowness of our generation were on the rise. Those jokes always struck me as bizarre. Most generations have significant social crises with which to contend, and that helped to shape their worldview. Ours was no different. We were a generation coming of age in the aftermath of 9/11 and the return to endless wars abroad. Climate change increasingly loomed over our future like the most ghoulish apocalypse film ever conceived, and then there were large-scale economic crises to contend with as we attempted to pursue the American Dream. Meanwhile, we were forced to grow accustomed to mass shootings in our schools and our grocery stores, our concerts, movie theaters, and malls. Excerpted from Quarterlife: The Search for Self in Early Adulthood by Satya Doyle Byock All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.Table of Contents
Author's Note | p. xi |
Introduction | p. xiii |
Part I | |
Chapter 1 Something Better Than This | p. 3 |
Chapter 2 The Timeless Search | p. 15 |
Chapter 3 Stability and Meaning | p. 23 |
Part II | |
Chapter 4 Meaning Types | p. 41 |
Chapter 5 Stability Types | p. 59 |
Chapter 6 Separate | p. 78 |
Chapter 7 Listen | p. 110 |
Chapter 8 Build | p. 151 |
Chapter 9 Integrate | p. 177 |
Conclusion | p. 199 |
Acknowledgments | p. 209 |