$pent Millennial

Dear Reader,

I am disappointed.

This might read like a privileged gripe list. And, it is. But I’m learning to let that be okay. I’m allowed to be disappointed. I can hold space for the many ways I’m fortunate—and still feel frustrated, disheartened, and just plain tired.

This weekend, I’m sitting in that disappointment.

There’s no shortage of “big” things to be disappointed about lately. The world is heavy. The headlines are constant. The deeper, existential disappointments are always humming in the background—many of us are just doing what we can to keep moving through it.

But sometimes, it’s the small, tangible disappointments that tip the scale.

This weekend:

First, I went to do my laundry at the neighborhood laundromat I’ve been using—after giving up on the on-site machines in my building. They’d been misused by other tenants: I’m talking cigarettes, ketchup, used face masks, and soaking-wet loads left to mildew in the drum for days. After multiple stained shirts and futile complaints, I decided to focus on what I could control and made the laundromat part of my new weekend routine.

And who did I run into there this weekend?

The very same family that’s been misusing the apartment machines—now using up all the large machines I count on. Same time, same spot. I could’ve screamed.

My laundry got done. It all went well. No harm, no foul- but weird, right? 

Then, after doing my laundry, there was an open house I’d been planning to visit—not because I’m ready to buy, but because I like to stay informed and get a feel for what’s out there. I call it “practicing”. 

But not this weekend. 

Canceled. An offer had already been accepted before the weekend even began. Okay, fine. It isn’t like we were going to make an offer anyway. We still enjoyed walking the neighborhood, trying to make a nice afternoon of it.

Later, we drove past another listing in a different part of town, another neighborhood we wanted to explore. As we pulled up, two parties were already outside shaking hands. Another one, already spoken for.

Again—I’m not actively house hunting. But it stings to watch two overpriced homes get snatched up before we can even peek inside or check out the neighborhood. Like the door to that next chapter keeps slamming shut, just as we walk up to it.

I know these aren’t the world’s greatest tragedies. I will acknowledge again that I’m in a relatively stable, privileged position. But the frustration is still real.

And it’s not just about laundry or real estate. It’s that sinking feeling so many of us are carrying—that no matter how hard we work, how responsibly we plan, or how intentionally we live… it still doesn’t feel like enough. Like we’re constantly trying to catch up in a race that keeps speeding up.

I’m exhausted. Burnt out. I do meaningful work. I do it well. And I make decent money. So does my partner. We work hard. We save. We live below our means. And yet, it often feels like we’re barely treading water.

That’s what’s weighing on me this weekend.

If you’re feeling it too, you’re not alone.

Thanks for spending part of your Sunday morning sitting in the muck with me.

Until next week—take care, be well,
Everett