The Youngest Person in the Room

Zara Lyne 

My mother and I have long observed that, wherever I go, I seem to be ‘the youngest person in the room.’ This began as a literal expression, suggesting that I was perhaps the only child at a movie screening full of elderly people. But, as I grew older, it took on a more figurative meaning: the spaces I choose to occupy are generally not shared by those alike to myself. I used to be quite embarrassed by this as a child, as most little kids are when they feel singled out. My mother would insist that I accompany her to the 100th anniversary of some dance festival or an orchestra performing in a tiny town up the coast. As an only child, I had little choice but to oblige. While I must admit I often enjoyed these events in the end, I carried a sense of shame that I was missing out on ‘normal kid stuff.’ This shame did not come from disliking these alternative excursions. Instead, I felt jaded by the divide this pushed between myself and many of my peers. At times, I suppose I thought of myself—a very privileged individual with a caring mother—as a victim. Ridiculous, right? However, now old enough to reflect on this, I can see that while I missed out on the joys of Wii Sports and Spongebob, I developed a strong, intrinsic understanding of community. I learned to find joy in all kinds of places, regardless of where I ended up. Spending time in communities that rarely included people from my generation or friendship group also protected me from some of the widespread boredom and loneliness that seem to trouble many members of Gen Z. 

You hear it in every setting: “Wellington is so boring and there is nothing to do.” We’ve all said it once or twice. But the same complaint could be made about almost any city. While many of us sit in Wellington, dreaming of leaving, there are people our age in London, Paris, New York, Tokyo, and every other city around the world thinking the exact same thing. Boredom has become something of a Gen Z consensus, raising the question: can a place truly be boring, or is boredom a mindset? I think the latter is true. We want to be constantly engaged in wonderful and interesting things, yet we expect them to land on our laps without putting in any effort. Have we lost our awe of the world? There seems to be an illicit shame—the same one I felt as a child, I think— around pushing outside of the box though. Here, we might call it tall poppy syndrome. People who join clubs, go to random events, and converse with a range of people are happier and more worldly, yes, but that can also make them targets for others’ spite and projected emotions. This was very prevalent at my highschool. Peers would say, ‘I cannot wait to leave this shitty city because there is absolutely nothing to do and I hate it.’ Yet when someone brave stepped onto the stage to perform a violin solo, or won a collection of science ribbons, those same students would laugh and call them losers, or worse. As we moved through school, some of them found their niche and settled into themselves a little more, letting go of that shame. Others held onto their opinions and left school as bored and angry as ever, becoming further disconnected, and less likely to change with every passing year. Exploring your own discomfort to bring about meaningful change in your life is clearly a skill we cannot afford to neglect. 

It seems to me that many of us lack the bravery to engage with our local communities because people our age might not be there, or because we fear being considered cringe. Shame is an awful, isolating feeling. Yet, as human beings we need a physical community that we can see and participate in to feel safe and stable. We need goals and hobbies to keep us accountable and joyful. Are we so afraid of not being fully understood by people different from ourselves that we are willing to risk our mental health to avoid them? Why do we fear community engagement when we are wired to desire it? Part of the answer may lie in our reliance on technology and a very small social circle. I know, I know, you’ve heard it all before. Yet if as children we learn to play only with other like-minded children and iPads, we may fail to develop the emotional and social structures that reward anything other than instant gratification and safe, familiar connections. When those things inevitably fail, loneliness follows. We desire kinship and joy, but reach for the wrong tools in order to obtain it: Anti-intellectualism is well and truly on the rise. These are things that are very challenging to work on, but certainly not impossible. 

Community-building is obviously not a miracle cure. You would hardly be having the full 20s experience if you weren’t feeling a little disconnected and bored, with just a dash of loneliness on the side. Yet exploring a hobby you’ve always wanted to pursue, or attending an event you’ve watched from afar for many years, or even complimenting the baddie sitting next to you on the train can alleviate the dread that rises when boredom sets in. The broader and more unexpected the connection, the richer the reward. Yes, you could talk about Tomodachi Life for the tenth time with your bestie. But you could also learn something new about ‘70s meditation at a pottery class, or hear about abstract art at run club. The information might be useless, but that is not the point. Just as a diverse variety of food nourishes the body,

diverse company and experiences nourish the soul. None of this means you should stop dreaming of moving away or experiencing something new. It simply makes the present a more exciting place to inhabit. You have the power to choose what I like to call ‘your daily side quest’ and let the work you put into it electrify you for the rest of the day. This switch comes from the acceptance that feeling uncomfortable means that you are broadening your horizons; it comes from knowing that even when you are tired or sore or grumpy that getting out and about will make you feel better. Discomfort and fear are temporary when building a habit which is actively working towards your own happiness. 

If I could go back, I would have felt far more gratitude for the childhood my mum was giving to me as it was happening. Not only did she give me variety and adventure, but she instilled in me the same appreciation for community and arts that was given to her in her childhood. I find it hard to be bored, even in little Wellington, because I was taught to search for fulfilling connection and entertainment. Some people are lucky enough to learn this early, but it is something which we can all practice and learn. So get out there! You might even be the youngest person in the room, but when you stick your neck out, you enrich both your own life and the lives of others with joy, which is the strongest antidote to boredom and loneliness. The more you engage with your community, the happier your life becomes as you start to turn short term joys into long term happiness.