Lately, a striking number of the conversations I have had with my friends—here and abroad—have inevitably had the same underlying tone of confusion and discontent. To give this a sense of context: I was born in 1993, and like the vast majority of people I know, I left Nepal after finishing high school. A lot of us have completed our studies, have held some form of employment, and some have even returned home to Nepal. To add further to the context, we are—like our counterparts in most other nations—the first generation to be raised by the television in the living room, to have grown up using the internet, and definitely the first generation to have used any form of social media. We now have an average of 400 friends on Facebook.

We also believe that everyone but us has it all figured out.

The problem with my generation seems to be that we oftentimes lose ourselves in the “find your purpose” narrative that has currently engulfed our world.

The world we see around us—at least through our holy screens—appears to be full of people doing amazing things, so full of hope  and yet here we are, at our desks, drinking coffee that has gone cold while we are busy scrolling down someone’s news feed. There is something unnatural about the way someone else’s declaration of happiness somewhere in the world convinces us that we are utterly lost and heading headlong into perpetual mediocrity. There is a gloom that looms above our heads that constantly reminds us that despite being well into the twenties, we do not actually know what we are doing, and that uncertainty scares us, but not as much as whatever job it is that we are doing.

It is not even that the grass is greener on the other side; it is that we do not know what it is that we want. We just seem to know for a fact that it most definitely is not what we have right this moment. It is the fear of not knowing what there is on the other side, and the horror of living our whole lives not knowing. This manifests itself in the form of a melancholic search for something we can’t quite put our fingers on, something that we have only seen on our screens.

This is a very simple reduction of a very complex, multifaceted phenomenon and an allegation against our holy screens where people undeniably share the happiest versions of themselves. This ignores the various social, economic and political factors also at play that have directly or indirectly contributed towards our shared ennui. We grew up witnessing, and often soaking in, the increasing pessimism about the nation’s and the world’s way forward. Over time, the result was that we became accustomed to complaining about all the things that were wrong, but not wanting to fix them; constantly comparing our lives to an abstract ideal.

Our generation worldwide, spoon-fed by stars and stories from a screen, is especially susceptible to catching the protagonist syndrome—genuinely believing that we are destined to do great things in life. It is remarkable how the idea of leading an ordinary, mediocre life frightens us to our very core. By definition, not all of us can be extraordinary, and a staggering majority of us will undoubtedly lead a very average life, how much ever we deny it.

Over the years, my own dissatisfaction and discontent has led me to make dramatic changes in my professional life. Now, as one of those faces on social media that make you question your life’s decisions, I assure you that your life is also likely subject to similar unfettered envy and adoration.

You will most likely run from one place to another, one job to another, one person to another. And, that is okay. We worry about where we are at present because we aspire to do better for ourselves. Let your confusion and dissatisfaction fuel you, let your moments of heightened confidence fool you. The smallest of steps will one day amount to a life that is worth you. And if it isn’t? It’s never too late to start over again.