These young Melburnians come from all walks of life. Here’s one challenge they have in common

Until now, Mia Boe has regarded adulthood as a bit of a theoretical concept.

“Growing up, I changed ideas so many times. I wanted to be an architect, wanted to be a hairdresser. I wanted to be a lawyer … I didn’t think about adulthood beyond going out with friends, [like in] Sex and the City,” says Boe.

But at 27, reality has hit. And as a professional artist trying to make ends meet, Brisbane-born Boe is wondering where she fits into the life of Melbourne, her adopted city.

“The Australian dream of buying property … there’s a smaller and smaller chance of that happening for younger people,” says Boe.

“We’re having less and less stability and hope ... everything’s very temporary, casual and up in the air.”

Boe is one of five young Melburnians whom The Age invited to dinner to talk about their lives. Yellow flowers sit in vases. Pizza and soft drinks are arranged across the table. And over two hours, these five people aged 19 to 29 – an artist, an actor, a youth worker and two university students who work in construction and financial services – debate the challenges and rewards of being young and living in Melbourne for an Age series. They discuss politics, class, the cost of living, social media, cancel culture and housing.

They find agreement in surprising places, cause for debate in others.

The group gives a remarkable insight into how this city looks to someone just getting a toe-hold in adulthood – its woes and rewards – and how they’re trying to navigate through it.

The Australian dream

Boe is an Indigenous Butchulla woman who is also of Burmese ancestry. She was drawn to Victoria because of its culture. Her Melbourne is a place to cultivate connection and inclusivity, both personally and creatively.

Boe is making the most of these opportunities – she has secured an exhibition with the National Gallery of Victoria and was selected as a finalist in the prestigious Archibald Prize in 2024.

Yet she is frustrated with a generational divide she sees in Melbourne.

“[For the] generations above us, it was easier to save money, to buy property … young people just don’t have the same opportunities,” Boe says.

There are nods around the table. The group pick at their pizza crusts and listen in.

But not everyone is so disheartened. Media and communications university student Jenson Galvin is optimistic that the Australian dream Boe speaks of – a home complete with a white picket fence – is within his grasp.

“Well and truly I buy into that dream. I would love to own my own property, which is why I work so hard for it,” he says.

Ambition oozes out of the 19-year-old. The Brighton Grammar graduate recently ran unsuccessfully as an independent candidate in local government elections and is a member of the Liberal Party.

“I put a lot of effort into growing my savings, to grow my ability to buy a home one day … of course having that stable investment is well and truly a goal of mine.” Galvin is a financial services worker, as well as mentoring at his former high school.

In the midst of a housing crisis, it’s perhaps not surprising that a general question about adulthood turns so quickly to home ownership. It preoccupies everyone here. A house is a representation of a secure future and a decent livelihood.

And to Ryan Stewart, 29, a non-binary performer and actor, it has broader implications.

“There’s that material aspect of financial instability … [but also] that idea of trying to reconcile the cognitive dissonance between what we were told life would be as an adult growing up in Australia, and what we’re dealing with now,” they say.

Stewart grew up between two single-income households as the child of divorced parents, and had an early awareness of social support services and welfare. While they’re determined to pursue a creative career, that choice has forced them to confront important real-world questions – like how to save money for necessities like groceries or rent.

“[It’s] tough to be a person in the world at the moment who is making art,” they say. Stewart feels alienated in a society that is seemingly blind to these struggles.

“The [political] bickering is worrying about the surface problems rather than the actual systemic societal problems. The stuff that we’re seeing argued in government or in the media is not actually often that pertinent to what we’re having to deal with day to day,” they say.

“People can go on about identity politics stuff all day, but that’s not going to put food on the table.”

On the opposite side of the table, Galvin agrees that young people are suffering from a lack of overall stability.

“We’ve got such a large debate around everything that happens … within our country, that finding that stability to build your life upon ... it’s more difficult than ever,” Galvin says.

He believes his generation, regardless of background, is struggling with politics, housing and the way society treats its young.

“I work in a private school in Bayside, [and] it’s the same. A lot of kids don’t have the right puzzle pieces. They’ve got their picture, they don’t have the right pieces to put it together,” he says.

Perceived disapproval from older generations only makes it worse, he says – the criticisms about social media use, the accusation that young people lack a work ethic. The labelling of a generation as being void of ambition and drive.

Lack of drive or fire in the belly?

All this is too much for 27-year-old Abdulmalik.

“I’m going to be a bit controversial, to just wake everyone up a bit,” says the university student and construction worker. We are only using his first name as he had doubts about being fully identified after the interview was conducted.

The son of African migrants says he’s been subject to discrimination, but such barriers shouldn’t hold people back.

“I face that every day … but that shouldn’t be an excuse … I didn’t make any excuses,” he says. “[Young] people don’t know who they are … They’re always seeking support. Which is great, but everywhere they go, they’re struggling.”

Abdulmalik grew up in public housing in inner-city Melbourne. He works in construction while also managing a soccer club in the inner north that allows children from nearby estates to play for free.

He sees young people relying too much on support networks.

This contrasts with his own journey, he says. As soon as he graduated from high school, he “put his head down” and “worked [his] arse off” to find a sense of purpose.

“Lots of people, young people, are just not pushing themselves. They’re not that resilient, I would say,” Abdulmalik says.

Public health graduate Ikram Mahamed, 23, couldn’t disagree more. In her view, today’s young people are a cause for hope and optimism. “I understand that there are barriers that are in the way. But I feel like young people actually have this fire in them. They want to do things.”

For Mahamed, community is everything. Like Abdulmalik, she grew up in public housing. Far from seeing it as a disadvantage, she says it showed her the importance of building a strong network. She also attributes these values to her Somali heritage, which ingrained the importance of family.

The 23-year-old is calm and measured. She would call herself an advocate within her community but adds “a lot of people are advocates, but sometimes don’t see themselves that way”.

While she agrees that many young people lack direction, she says this isn’t a reason to criticise them. Her goal is to lead people towards the support they need. She’s established a digital platform that provides career and personal guidance to people living in Melbourne’s west.

In her job as a youth worker she’s witnessed many young people sorting it all out. “I think young people are really eager, and I think they do have a purpose, but it’s all about [asking], ‘How do we navigate?’” Mahamed says. “When I work with a lot of young people, they’re like, ‘Where are these opportunities?’”

A city for everyone

When avenues do open up, living in Melbourne can be a rich experience. Stewart says the city is a “cosmopolitan hub”. Abdulmalik points out its place as a “sporting capital”.

Mahamed, a self-proclaimed foodie, finds joy in her city’s food scene. And Boe is proud of the spaces that allow people to create. For queer, Indigenous or otherwise diverse individuals, Melbourne is the place to be, she says.

“There’s now more room for people to create collectives that people can feel a part of and connect,” Boe says.

Says Galvin: “Whatever you want to do in this place, whoever you want to be in this place, anything you want to see, there’s also a place.

“Every single thing you can think of is somewhere in Melbourne.”

• With Hannah Hammoud, Angus Delaney, Hannah Kennelly and Brittany Busch

Start the day with a summary of the day’s most important and interesting stories, analysis and insights. Sign up for our Morning Edition newsletter.