THE SPOT

Tag: Meg Jay

  • When Birthdays Don’t Feel Magical Anymore

    Sunset – Chania Old Harbor

    27 years ago, I “blessed” this world with my presence. 27 — not yet old, no longer really young. And I felt it.

    Birthdays stopped being magical for me a long time ago. I was thrust into the reality of life when I was 6 and my father got sick. Gone were the faint memories of presents and cake. In their place, the door opened for mental health issues, financial woes, and many suffocating crying sessions, both at my parents’ house as well as in my very own first apartments.

    This year, unfortunately, was no different. It started on August 15th. I felt overwhelmed, tired, exhausted — and very much done. I started reflecting: what have I accomplished so far? Based on all the experiences, the hurdles I jumped, the tears I wiped away, and the birthdays celebrated… was I there?

    It didn’t feel like it. It didn’t feel like I would ever reach there.

    I had read Meg Jay’s book once, The Defining Decade1. I knew that even clinicians don’t believe your twenties are the time of your life. But still, I felt… like I lacked.

    Lacked knowledge.
    Lacked guidance.
    Lacked grace.
    Lacked happiness.

    I don’t like myself — my weight, my thought process, my mental health issues, my job, and, lastly, the point I am at in my life currently. I wished I did.

    I look at Instagram, Reddit, LinkedIn, and other social platforms, and every post, every picture, every caption seems to solidify these thoughts.

    All of this culminated in tears — on my birthday.
    A day I should be thankful for.
    Not only for being given life, but for all the blessings I already have: family, friends, a roof over my head, food, life itself.

    But is that all I am meant to do on earth?

    Is this it?
    And if it is… shouldn’t I be as content as possible?

    I don’t know. The day I was supposed to be happy about was the day I felt like I had wasted it all. And as the sun set for another day, it felt like all my hope set with it.

    This was a great overview of the book, I hope you enjoy.
    Sunset in Heidelberg

  • Self-love: Finding yourself in a crowd of people

    Twas the season to get luxurious. Or so I thought.

    After yet another spiral of self-doubt, anger, and that familiar dull ache of self-loathing, I knew I needed to step out—literally. My days had blurred into a gray loop of working, studying, sleeping, and doing it all over again. The sun rose and set like a metronome, ticking through time, but nothing really moved me. My student apartment had become a quiet container for my thoughts, but not my feelings—something my psychologist gently pointed out. Feel your feelings, he said, not just think them.

    So I decided to do something different. Something that felt intentional. I picked up The Defining Decade by Dr. Meg Jay—a book every twenty-something should probably read. It wasn’t just full of research or clinical insight; it told stories about people like me, trying to make sense of their twenties. Careers, love, meaning, identity—each chapter gave me language for what I was stumbling through.

    With the book in hand and a shaky sense of purpose, I made a reservation at jil Rooftop Bar, one of Heidelberg’s newer, trendier spots. Picture this: a crisp fall night, Bismarckplatz glittering below, and me, in a black dress with a slit up the side, attempting what I hoped would be a moment—a night of self-love and presence.

    Reality arrived before the drinks did.

    I sat down alone. Waited. No one came. The room was full of life—strangers laughing, couples clinking glasses—and I was invisible. Eventually, I flagged someone down and ordered a Limoncello Sprizz and foie gras-stuffed chicken. I opened my book between sips, trying to create a cinematic moment for myself.

    But I wasn’t in a film. The food arrived, underwhelming. The drink was fine. The atmosphere buzzed, but I felt disconnected. Gray inside. My table neighbors asked if I was alone. I smiled and said yes, that I wanted to be. I wasn’t lying—but I also wasn’t fulfilled.

    After finishing, I stepped onto the balcony. Filmed the view. Still numb. I went back inside, ordered another drink, and let the weight settle in. No sudden clarity. No Instagram-worthy transformation. Just silence inside a very loud place.

    I paid at the bar. The waiter didn’t get a tip—the food was late and the service indifferent. I walked out onto the cold street, called my sister, and cried.