I argued to the world (aka my 3 readers at the time) in 2008 that they better not count me in that punk ass group of “millennials” that some phd candidate in a bind for meaningless banter in a research paper teamed up with the man to create in order to label and marginalize a whole group of people with extremely varying lives.
Now every time I see an article about millenials I read it to reinforce to myself “See! That’s not me.” And if I do see something that reflects me at all, I feel a tinge of guilt and shame and then make a note to myself to do what it takes to get myself out of that boo boo category.
I once talked to the CEO of a large company with roots in Sugar Land. He told me he’d rather rehire a retired worker than hire on a 25-year-old because they just weren’t working for him. I don’t know if it was their attitude or work ethic but the guy had had enough of that age group. I gulped and didn’t tell him I was 25 at the time.
Anyway, in my quest to make the world know millennial applies to me the same way boomer would never in heck refer to my parents, years ago I left a comment on Rosetta Thurman’s blog about how you can’t group children of immigrants into this (and plenty of other groups I’m sure).
Millennial is like this tattoo on my arm that I’ve been trying to rub off. Truth be told no one’s ever called me one but seeing these articles and knowing my birth year falls in that range makes me insecure.
But there’s another side to this story. Just like with any stereotype, there are droves of people who defy the negatively told aspects of millenials. Like the Nonprofit Millenial Bloggers Alliance. and the headline that millienial women are disproportionately influential.
Dan Schawbel has been promoting a new book about millenials and career success, arguing about the value of millenials and dispelling myths. But based on comments on his posts, I’m realizing people will believe what they want to believe based on their experiences and paint everyone with a broad brush.
Thanks for letting me get this off my chest, friends. Now let’s never talk about it again.