It's the catch cry of many older relatives the moment anyone experiences a life achievement.
A friend gets engaged? "You're next!" Your cousin has a baby? "You're next!" Your third cousin, twice removed gets married? "You're next!"
If I had a dollar for every time I've heard those two words over the past six months, I think I'd finally be able to afford my first home.
As an 'elder millennial', I am of the age where I should be married with 2.5 kids, living in a leafy, suburban home surrounded by Colourbond fences and a yard big enough to host the monthly family barbecue.
But, like many others in the same life phase, that's simply way too much adulting for me.
Why are we expected to fulfil the great Australian dream by a certain age?
These days many of us can't afford to even dip a toe in the housing market pool, let alone the cost of nuptials or a diamond. Even a small one!
And don't even get me started on the price of avocado toast.
With the world on the door step of another recession, interest rates skyrocketing, petrol prices climbing and the simple cost of groceries on the up - it can be hard to consider your next move in life.
But even when things were 'normal', pre-pandemic, many young people I know were not even remotely thinking about settling down.
Generations before mine had babies in their 20's, now mostly own their own homes, are either married or divorced (some several times) and have happily settled into their well-established lives.
However, many folks of a similar age to me are travelling rather than saving for a home, aren't considering children until they are well into their 30s, waiting to get married (or not getting married at all), and often eat Mi Goreng for dinner rather than the staple meat and three veg.
Maybe adulting has taken on a new meaning? Perhaps it's more about survival now.
Long gone are the golden days where most people could afford the great Australian dream.
We've ushered in a new generation of adults who want to lead their own uniquely, fulfilling lives - and there's nothing wrong with that.
So hopefully the next time someone tells me, "you're next", it'll be about a six week trip across Europe. That's something I could get behind.
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