My dear friend Sparsh is now known as Sparky. I’m sure it’s an unwelcome development in his universe, but that’s what he gets for his 8 a.m. cheerfulness. On the corner of 7th and Driggs – in the world’s absolutely hippest neighborhood, Williamsburg, Brooklyn – he was quoted as screaming, “me, why does this always happen to me!!” He was pulling his hair out. And I was doubled over laughing.

This was the start to our trip. Revaz’s sister had bought tickets to the Broadway showing of Avenue Q, a puppet show with a sex scene. We had heard good things – too many – and so we hopped on the subway, marched through the always-anti-climatic Times Square, and walked up the steps of the old theater to our high altitude seats where the po’ people consume their culture.

Avenue Q was written by Robert Lopez and Jeff Mark. It follows Princeton, a recent graduate with a B.A. in English, who moved to Avenue Q in New York City with the hope of finding his purpose. It’s funny. And it’s funny because it’s true. The first song? “What Do You Do with a B.A. in English?”

True.

As it always is for a traveler, the most common question was, “so what are you doing in New York?” After a couple days of practice, my response became, “what am I not doing in New York? It seems like this is where everyone is.” So many of my friends – sadly, more than I was able to see – have come to this metropolis for one reason or the other. Or maybe they all come to this city precisely because they have no reason. Either way, I wanted to find out, so this became my line of questioning.

It only took two pitchers of sake to get it out of Moreno. I apologize for his manner of speaking; there’s nothing I can do about it.

Moreno (cigarette wedged above his ear, another dangling between his lips): “Jive this oso man, this here, it is like the cosmic centerness where the beats be happening, you dig? This be the crossroads, the karmic Mecca where tales are told. And by tales I mean, you know, bunny tales. And by bunnies I mean … you dig oso man?

Oso (legs crossed, as per usual, poet style, the way that elicits, “why do you sit like a fag” in junior high) “I’m not quite sure I follow. I mean, there’s gotta be something magnetic about this city right? Why do so many people come out here as soon as they’re done with college? It’s like the official graduation rite of all my friends. What are they looking for? What are they getting out of it? I mean, you guys never even leave Brooklyn.”

Moreno: Come on, little bear man, wutchyu gettin’ at? Why would I leave my slick barrio when the world comes to me man. Look around, you got a little of everything. You’s got the Jewish cats, the Polish cats, these fine looking Japanese cats here, and that happy-as-fuck Black man strummin’ all those Beatles tunes in the subway stop. Fuck, I like me the Beatles little bear … Where was I?

I poured Moreno another thimble of luke warm Sake and decided to take my investigation elsewhere. One of the great things about sharing your writing in a public space is that others feel emboldened to share theirs with you. Revaz’s sister, Rochelle handed me a piece she wrote about moving to the big apple. Here’s a ridiculously abridged version:

I moved to New York with all the idealism that accompanies a recent graduate in Global Studies.

We [had] spent the past four years in classes [at UC Santa Barbara] that made us challenge ideas and question the status quo. We read literature about the “counter-culture” of the sixties, the struggle of illegal immigrants, and the ongoing debate between religion and politics. And in the end, when our papers were returned and the A on the top of the page meant an extra pat on the back during Christmas break, we never thought to question whether we had really solved anything. Instead, our optimism was preserved and fostered in a way that would later backlash against us – as I was to learn.

It has been three months since I left California to embark on the pilgrimage toward the American dream that I had been taught to thirst for for so long. And I find myself sitting in the same rickety folding chair as I did on commencement day. But today I have been stripped of my liberal environment where I had once been encouraged to nurture such idealistic views. Now, I turn to the towering silhouette of the corporate world where the good paying jobs are the jobs I promised myself I would never succumb to. I read articles naming our generation “the twixters.” I believe that we are indeed a breed who as Lev Grossman puts it, is “reaping the fruit of decades of American affluence and social liberation.” To deny this would simply be false. But I also believe that “this new period is a chance for young people to savor the pleasures of irresponsibility, search their souls and choose their life paths.” It might be idealistic, but embrace it. At times I find myself thinking that I should have taken Professor McDonald’s advice and gone straight to graduate school. Perhaps taking a year off to travel would have been a better alternative. But then again – maybe it would just prolong the inevitable. Idealistic or not, I guess ya gotta kick off your sandals at sometime.

Rochelle’s is an experience that I think most of us can relate to. It’s not like career path confusion is something that didn’t exist prior to the 90′s, but she’s right, these days there is an unavoidable indoctrination of do-gooding idealism at the college-level before they throw you out into a job market where doing good almost inevitably translates to “grant-writer” or $20,000 a year office slave at some human rights organization. Twenty-three to twenty-eight … those are the years spent “seeking purpose.” That is, stalling. Until you have to either sell out (easily justifiable these days with en-vogue neoconservativism and libertarianism) or settle on grad school or teaching.

As the end of our purpose-seeking stint comes upon us, it’s been interesting to see which of my friends end up doing what. Financially speaking, some of them have made out pretty nicely. Others are broke, but still dreamy with optimism. And yet others have put off the ugly decision for another 5 – 6 years as they scratch their chins in various grad schools around the world. But the overarching sentiment that they all share is that this isn’t what they want to be doing in the long run. This isn’t their purpose in life. They’re just not quite sure what is.