By NANCY ROMMELMANN

A recent episode of the AMC series "Mad Men" showed its female characters navigating a husband's departure for Vietnam and the land mines awaiting career women in 1964.

"I realized, watching it, these women were all 26," says Paige Prather, who moved to Portland in August and who is also 26 years old. Unlike her TV sisterhood, Prather, who has a bachelor's degree in anthropology, has not picked a profession. Unmarried, living rent-free in her sister's attic, she is looking for part-time work in customer service, or a full-time position in the arts. Graduate school also looms as a possibility. The crazy-making multiplicity of her situation is not lost on her.

"I sometimes think we're the scatterbrained generation," says Prather. "You have so many choices, and you know what you end up doing? Nothing. You become the DJ-fashion-designing-knitting-coffee-maker."

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"Is emerging adulthood a rich and varied period for self-discovery ... or is it just another term for self-indulgence?"

Live chat

Join Portland-based journalist Nancy Rommelmann and two twentysomethings, Matt Davis and Kate Williams, in a

on OregonLive, starting at noon Monday.

These were among the questions posed by Robin Marantz Henig in a recent New York Times Sunday Magazine article, "What Is It About 20-Somethings?" As compared with previous generations, Henig asked psychologists, why are kids taking so long to grow up? Why aren't they choosing careers and sticking with them? It's identity exploration, they said; it's brain development, it's overindulgent parents, it's the recession.

To this list Portland can add the tantalizing insinuation, much heralded in the media, that young people here make their passions their professions, in coffee and beer, music and bikes, progressive politics and as stewards of the land.

It must be a sweet song: A 2010 report out of Portland State University puts the number of 20- to 29-year-olds in Multnomah County at more than 100,000. And if one must take a dreary job, or hold down two, three, eight creative gigs to make ends meet, it can take a little savor out of the perfect Portland pie, as well as have the paradoxical effect of working hard to not get far.

But leave Portland and the dream of making a living at what you love? That's scary, if not a form of civic betrayal: In what other city, the message seems to be, are such strides being made toward idealism?

"Young people intuitively understand that the old model is broken and they are in the forefront of inventing the new institutional model of the future," says Charles Heying, an associate professor of urban studies and planning at PSU. "But to make this omelet, many eggs are getting broken."

In his just-released book, "Brew to Bikes: Portland's Artisan Economy," Heying examines Portland's arts and craft ventures, focusing on its successes. For instance, the $90 million that bicycle-related businesses contribute to Portland's economy. Also, that the beer industry adds $2.3 billion to the state economy. "Alone, a few small-scale artisans do not constitute an economy," says Heying. "But collectively, they do."

To ask whether this collectivism yields independence, Heying suggests, is the wrong question. "Portland may be deficient in personal wealth, (but) we have an abundance of 'social wealth,'" he said. "The social wealth comes from the livability of the city, its low cost of housing relative to other West Coast cities, vibrant neighborhoods, abundant and inexpensive activities including access to good food and entertainment."

Does this abundance offer opportunities to grow? Or are these intangibles their own form of limbo? Below, six people talk about the twentysomething Portland experience.

Incubator city

In August, 23-year-old Kate Williams, whose jobs have included barista, bartender and coffee roaster, ditched Portland for the third time. "I'm going to California -- going, not moving," she emphasizes. "I want an opportunity to miss my home instead of resent it, and I'm starting to resent it."

I've left Portland twice for brief stints because I couldn't take it. The weather, the teenage angst. But Portland is a really strong vortex. Once you get here, you can't leave. I would say eight out of 10 people I know are not from Oregon. The (media) exposure the city has had in the past few years has just exploded: Portland is green! It's so great! And it can be, so the people keep coming.



You can live out the broke kid's dream. People have these adorable illusions: I'll come to Portland and sell my paintings! For lots of people, this is an excuse to not have ambition. I used to curate at (the cafe) the Rocking Frog, and people would come in with their art, and I'd be like, "You want people to pay money for this?"



I'm moving to Huntington Beach. No, I don't have a job, and I will be living with my aunt. I might go to massage school and do it down there, or go to Austin, or come back to Portland. But I don't want to come back to the same routine, to a customer service job. I need to work toward goals, and I need to leave to make that happen.



I think Portland is in a way in danger of being a sort of incubator. People absorb its resources but don't recycle them. They're taking their careers elsewhere, and Portland earns a reputation of being a steppingstone rather than a destination.





Postscript: Williams returned to Portland in mid-October.

The craftsman

Working in vest and tie, Abraham Sutfin looks like a 19th-century tradesman as he fixes bicycles in his 6-month-old shop. Sutfin's business model, too, is of another era, costing less than $500 to launch in a storeroom behind a minimarket on North Williams Avenue. What brought the 27-year-old Pittsburgh native to Portland two years ago? "The Pacific Northwest is what I'm after," he says. "It's one of the only places left that has old-growth forests. I love the ocean; I love snowcapped mountains."

I came (to Portland) with that black box of tools and worked out of my garage. I have a customer who knew the owner of the market. This space was empty; she told him about me. (The response) has been pretty amazing. I work on $100 Fred Meyer bikes, and I've had $4,000 road bikes. I don't have a huge inventory, and I don't have fancy bling, shall we say. I like the feel. I think it's less intimidating to come into a place like this.



Personal goals are for me to raise enough money to pay for my master's degree. For the shop, it's still to be determined. It's really successful. I didn't mean to be so successful. I don't mean to sound proud, but it really is. I have something to do all the time, and so, it's hard to walk away from something I've put so much work into.



There's definitely a niche for what I do in the city, and there could be lots more of these. We could call them micro-economies. We're operating on very, very small scales, and we're making it work.





New blood

Natalie Poulton, 28, moved to Portland last year, and immediately sold her car. "It was a financial burden, and I want to ride a bike everywhere," says the Ohio native. A college graduate and certified yoga instructor, Poulton dreams of opening a community yoga center-slash-teahouse. She currently works as a manager at Grand Central Bakery.

I visited (Portland) in 2008. The first place I ever walked into was a little shop, and the woman came over and said, "You need to wear red." She brought me over a shirt. She just was really genuine. And then I found out she didn't even work at the store! That's what it was about Portland; people were really making connections.



I found getting work ridiculously easy; I had a job within a week. But a lot of people here really struggle. I work with 28-year-old people who make $8.50 an hour and smoke pot all the time and come to work and they're lazy. You could not go to Wooster, Ohio, and do what people do here, or Columbus or Cleveland. I don't understand the structure of it, or why people would want to do it. In five years, what are you going to have, if you're not building real relationships, if you're just doing what you feel like doing? I hired (a guy) at Grand Central. He's one of the nicest people, but he's 42 without any roots. He has no savings; he's living on his sister's couch. He's the quintessential Portland person. If Portland is Neverland, he's Peter Pan.



Two of the smartest people I know -- she's a designer, he was just hired by PSU to start their film program -- they both have a lot of creative energy, and they are putting it right back into Portland. She's on a dragon boat team, and she started an art night in a bar in their neighborhood. I want to be part of that energy.





Fed up

Journalist Matt Davis arrived in Portland from London four years ago at age 26. Rising to the title of news editor at the Portland Mercury, Davis decamped earlier this year for New Orleans.

I'd heard that Portland was a "livable" place and had a sense from reading about it that it was energetic, on the cusp of some kind of breakthrough, especially where green job creation was concerned. When I arrived I found that "livability" was generally reserved for the majority of white people who score sweet government jobs and that most everyone else is either funding their existence with family money, working for Wieden+Kennedy or barely surviving.





People leave Portland for all sorts of reasons. Mainly they realize it's a waste of time and they'd probably be happier somewhere else. I saw plenty of bright people buckle. Pour all their energy into drawing comics or the local bike scene instead of doing something constructive with it, something that might be relevant on a national or international scale. They lose confidence. The waste of potential is a tragedy. I hate to think of it 10 years from now, all those twentysomethings depressed because their lives (are) stuck.



It's not necessarily all their fault. The economy has left twentysomethings with a harder path to navigate than the previous generation. Plus most of them grew up being told they were special little flowers, with unique "creative talents," and it's a rude shock to land somewhere that tells you, simply, "We'll pay you minimum wage for waiting tables, and you'll be pooling tips." The creative class will eat itself, eventually, or tattoo itself to death. And so will Portland.





Hopeful, with reservations

Raised in Austin, Paige Prather left a job at the University of Texas in research and collections to come to Portland. Though she immediately found volunteer work at two arts organizations, paid employment has proved elusive.

I can't get anything. It's been five weeks and I haven't even had an interview. Including Craigslist and walking into places and talking to people my sister knows, I would say (I've tried) between 75 to 100 places. The young people I've met have been, "Good luck! It took me two years." I made a friend who has her master's in library science; she's been applying for three years and is working part time as a page. She admitted to me she has a trust fund.



Portland is a lot like Austin -- it's a small city, it's progressive. It didn't feel like it was too scary a transition. And Portland has a lot of young people. (But) if I can't get a job, I can't live here. I don't have a special income that can support this never-ending quest.



My parents were divorced, and from both households I was always told you can be whatever you want to be. My mom was always supportive of whatever decision I made; I never felt in any danger of disappointing them. I think there's some idealism there, because they each worked 70 hours a week to support their families, but I was not expected to take a job I didn't like just to make money. It was my aunt who sat me down and said, "Be realistic and do one thing."





Artist/entrepreneur

Tim "Winston" Traylor grew up in Chicago and Las Vegas before moving to Portland in the eighth grade. "I'm a city guy and I love the bright lights, and Portland didn't have that when I graduated from high school," says Traylor, 29. He went back to Vegas, earned an associate degree in business administration and worked at nightclubs. "I was making $3,000 to $6,000 a weekend," he says, money he used to open a clothing store. A rapper as well ("I've been doing it forever"), Traylor came back to Portland to be with his longtime girlfriend, with whom he lives in a home he bought in Northeast Portland.

I moved back in 2006, 2007. I was living off my savings. I didn't take the unemployment road, which unfortunately a lot of people seem to milk here. That's not going to make the economy any better. I focused on making new music. One day I ran into Danny Peebles (local musician Neo G Yo) -- that kind of started everything. ... I produce for Danny and am like an extended member of this group Serious Business; they do this electro hip-hop thing. And I just started working for a mortgage company, which is a little different for me. That's not the line that I want to be in, but I felt, far as having a career, that's the best way to go.



Portland is expanding so fast, it's crazy. Every day, you see a different license plate and meet somebody who says, "I just moved here from Utah or New Mexico." What people decide to do when they come is totally up to them. Everybody in Portland paints. Everyone in Portland is a photographer, and does music. At some point you have to say, what can I do to make this different? I think people are afraid to have their dreams crushed, so they don't go and say, "Hey, can I display my art in your store?" Which is sad. They come here with this false hope, that they're going to rise to the top right away. It's not that way. Nothing in life is that way. It's like making a cake; it takes time to fluff. You can't just put it in the oven and then boom, you take it out in five minutes.



I have to be up at 6:30 in the morning to walk my dogs and be at work at 8. I'm willing to accept that, because that's my career now -- or one of them. I think a lot of people in Portland are like, "I don't want a job where I have to get up early." People like sleeping until noon, 2 o'clock.



I don't know (if I will stay in Portland). I thought about moving to San Diego. I can be an underwriter; I'm thinking about going back to school to see what there is to offer me, to expand. I'm pretty sure anywhere I go I can make something work.





Nancy Rommelmann is a Portland-based journalist. Read her work at nancyrommelmann.com