Living with parents isn’t ideal, but a part-time barista job in a cosy market town, with not a single work email boring into my soul every hour of the day and night, feels much more conducive to my wellbeing.
Millennials have been handed an untenable position, with adversaries citing avocado toast and a poor work ethic as symptoms of a failing generation.
Twice I have been hidden homeless while working at full capacity; and my last landlord was legally allowed to raise rents from £600 a head to £900, with no maintenance or material changes to the property.
Charles Bukowski wrote his novel Post Office in 1971, which detailed his morning job as a mail carrier that allowed him the freedom to write, drink and bet on the horses for the rest of the day.
For those of us who didn’t have all the advantages listed in this article, the option of leaving a hated job and going back to live in mum and dad’s beautiful home was not there.
What saddens me about this account of millennials is that it appeared to present a choice between working hard for money and power or opting out to please yourself – and not so much about finding what was truly meaningful and making a worthwhile contribution to the community.
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