Yesterday, I read Elif Batuman’s fiction piece for my favourite New Yorker. The story — although on the surface looks like a coming-of-age short story about a young woman discovering her sexuality — is really about something much broader: finding your way in life.
In the piece, Elif’s character — a young college-age woman — contemplates whether one should have a higher purpose or goal or an organising principle around which all life revolves. Most people don’t.
For most people, the so-called “real life” consists of two things: making money and having kids. Much like alcohol is the only…