Thursday, August 27, 2009
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Birthdays
Okay, so I started this post back around my birthday - my 25th. Several months have since passed, and I still find myself telling people I am 24 and thinking it is true. I wonder why this is, because I wasn't so fond of being 24 either. My boyfriend oftentimes has to remind me of my true age, something I'm also not particularly fond of. Am I going to be one of those 42 year olds who tells everybody their 28? Quizas, quizas, quizas.
I would have happily vomited all over myself in public if it meant that I wouldn't have had to turn 25. It would be well worth the humiliation. When I began this post, I had nothing good to say about turning a year older, and I still really don't. I've come to terms with the fact that every birthday after 21 is just another step in a downward spiral over which I seem to be losing total control. I'm over that, but I still envy people who really celebrate their birthdays, choosing instead to honor their new number; Hell, I'm still hanging onto 24, even though I'm now closer to 26.
My boyfriend recently celebrated his birthday (he is slightly older than I) and complained that though he is approaching 30, he hasn't done anything with his life. Though I look pretty accomplished on paper, I feel much the same way. (I was recently informed that, according to my resume, I had been "a busy girl.") However, I am back in school; I still don't really know how to do anything; I don't know (or perhaps I don't remember) how to think; I still look awkward in most of my clothes; and I still don't know what I want to do with my life.
About that last one: I had a student (I teach college freshman) ask me the earlier this year, "What do you want to be?" and the only thing I could think was "When do people stop asking me that question?" You would think after some point people just stop asking, but they don't. If it's not my dad, or my boyfriend, or my sister then it's my 18 year old student. The worst part is that I have spent the last seven years trying to figure that out and though I'm getting closer, I have no respectable answer. To my student, I responded, "A badass," which only got me unenthusiastic laugh, but at least it got her off my back.
There are good things about getting older; I recognize that. Getting older means you get to have deeper relationships with people. I recently realized that I have known my best friend Tasha for 12 years; and my other best friend / roommate extraordinaire Lisa for 8 (some say we're practically married). And it means I have been in a relationship with my boyfriend for about 3 and a half (don't get me wrong, there are some months that I'd rather not count). I don't fight with my sister every time I talk to her anymore (though we still have our fair share of brawls). My dad now listens to me before he inveighs against all of my decisions. And my brother actually asks me for advice every once in a while. I consider those relationships accomplishments because managing and maintaining them feels like a full time job that I know is time well spent. And, it is true, the richness of these relationships develops only with time. Getting older is a necessary component.
But it also means that I need to start making real decisions, ones that matter, ones that have a real bearing on my future, ones I feel far too immature (and frankly far too young) to make. Do I want to get married? When? Babies? Where should I raise them? Do I want to have a job that requires me to work all the time? Where should I settle? How far from my family? How important is my career? How many years to I want to spend at my next job? Should I move somewhere to be with my boyfriend? Do I have to start actually thinking about someone else's needs when making decisions? Does he think about mine?
I fear even discussing many of these quesions. Many of them are the things I whisper to myself late at night like a crazy person when I know no one is listening. But I remember Lisa's sage, if harsh, advice. GROW UP.
While I don't feel as though my 20s are coming to a close (hey, I'm still buying used furniture off of craigslist), in a sense I feel as though some of the adventure (and concurrent stress) that was supposed to characterize the decade for me is beginning to fade into a flurry of fear and excitement regarding...could it be...stability????
26 is going to be a tough one. I can already tell.
I would have happily vomited all over myself in public if it meant that I wouldn't have had to turn 25. It would be well worth the humiliation. When I began this post, I had nothing good to say about turning a year older, and I still really don't. I've come to terms with the fact that every birthday after 21 is just another step in a downward spiral over which I seem to be losing total control. I'm over that, but I still envy people who really celebrate their birthdays, choosing instead to honor their new number; Hell, I'm still hanging onto 24, even though I'm now closer to 26.
My boyfriend recently celebrated his birthday (he is slightly older than I) and complained that though he is approaching 30, he hasn't done anything with his life. Though I look pretty accomplished on paper, I feel much the same way. (I was recently informed that, according to my resume, I had been "a busy girl.") However, I am back in school; I still don't really know how to do anything; I don't know (or perhaps I don't remember) how to think; I still look awkward in most of my clothes; and I still don't know what I want to do with my life.
About that last one: I had a student (I teach college freshman) ask me the earlier this year, "What do you want to be?" and the only thing I could think was "When do people stop asking me that question?" You would think after some point people just stop asking, but they don't. If it's not my dad, or my boyfriend, or my sister then it's my 18 year old student. The worst part is that I have spent the last seven years trying to figure that out and though I'm getting closer, I have no respectable answer. To my student, I responded, "A badass," which only got me unenthusiastic laugh, but at least it got her off my back.
There are good things about getting older; I recognize that. Getting older means you get to have deeper relationships with people. I recently realized that I have known my best friend Tasha for 12 years; and my other best friend / roommate extraordinaire Lisa for 8 (some say we're practically married). And it means I have been in a relationship with my boyfriend for about 3 and a half (don't get me wrong, there are some months that I'd rather not count). I don't fight with my sister every time I talk to her anymore (though we still have our fair share of brawls). My dad now listens to me before he inveighs against all of my decisions. And my brother actually asks me for advice every once in a while. I consider those relationships accomplishments because managing and maintaining them feels like a full time job that I know is time well spent. And, it is true, the richness of these relationships develops only with time. Getting older is a necessary component.
But it also means that I need to start making real decisions, ones that matter, ones that have a real bearing on my future, ones I feel far too immature (and frankly far too young) to make. Do I want to get married? When? Babies? Where should I raise them? Do I want to have a job that requires me to work all the time? Where should I settle? How far from my family? How important is my career? How many years to I want to spend at my next job? Should I move somewhere to be with my boyfriend? Do I have to start actually thinking about someone else's needs when making decisions? Does he think about mine?
I fear even discussing many of these quesions. Many of them are the things I whisper to myself late at night like a crazy person when I know no one is listening. But I remember Lisa's sage, if harsh, advice. GROW UP.
While I don't feel as though my 20s are coming to a close (hey, I'm still buying used furniture off of craigslist), in a sense I feel as though some of the adventure (and concurrent stress) that was supposed to characterize the decade for me is beginning to fade into a flurry of fear and excitement regarding...could it be...stability????
26 is going to be a tough one. I can already tell.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Here's To One Decade At A Time
Sometime in my early twenties, I stumbled upon a little gem online and despite the increasing depth of the internets, Google still manages to find it for me - hidden in the comments section of a blog I still adore. Even if it failed to do so, I have the precise location of where I wrote this in my old journal accurately memorized. The author had written this message in a card he gave to his sister, who had just turned twenty years old, and she ended up cherishing it forever:
You have entered the most turbulent decade of your life. These are the years you'll experience your greatest loves, your greatest breakups, your greatest victories and your greatest hardships, all of which will lead you to the greatest decades of all: the ones in which you'll know yourself.
I shared it with my best friend, and then with my brother, on their birthdays. Though I found it after I had already entered my twenties, it made my heart swell as though it had just taken a deep breath of relief. It comforted me and gave me much hope. Hope for those greatest of loves and victories, and hope, too, for those lessons learned from the greatest of breakups and hardships. Most of all, I wanted that tiny flicker of light at the end of this long decade to get bigger - I wanted to know myself.
I'm not sure I feel much different at 25 than I did a few years ago. Different than 19 and 21? Of course. The amount of time that I spend drunk out of my mind has decreased dramatically. But being 23 and 24 feels like it was just... seven days ago. It's almost as if I'm disappointed that I don't know myself better at this point (ridiculous, I know), but I think I've proven myself to be the type who has terribly high expectations of ...well, everything.
When I was younger, I often imagined what I would be like when I grew up. And when I got into writing myself birthday letters, those daydreams and fantasies manifested themselves into full blown predictions and desires captured in my loopy scrawl and sealed into envelopes for years at a time. When I turned 16, I read a letter I wrote to myself at 12 years old that wanted future me to have a stereo and CDs and be "cool". Turning 23, I read a letter from 20 year old me which was emo as all heck... something about love and crying and goodness knows what. The one I liked best was the letter I wrote to myself on my 16th birthday for an older me at 20. I was cute and charming, almost funny. I spoke to myself like I was my own friend. And sometimes, I think I forget that: I am my own friend.
It seems that even the farthest reaches of my over-active imagination could only ever see me at 20, at the oldest - for I never wrote a letter to an older me after that. On the eve of my birthday last Friday, I kind of wished that I had a letter to look forward to in the morning. I suppose imagining 16 and 20 were kind of easy - 16 being smack dab in the middle of all that was to be dramatic teenagedom, and 20 being on that cusp of almost-adulthood. I'll admit that when I was 21 or so I saw myself at 27, but only because that was the age at which I always thought I'd be getting married. And being 27 sounded really cool to me because I was reading the blog of someone who was 27 at the time and gee, I just thought she was the neatest thing ever. But what of 25?
Right now it kind of feels like no-man's land, and fuzzy at best. I finished school just about a year ago now, but my ties there are still strong enough to make me feel connected (plus, I miss my life in my campus city SO DAMN MUCH) to the point where I say that I "just" finished school. I'm working a full-time 9 to 5 gig, but I don't really feel that it's "me" quite yet. I kind of know deep down that I won't be there forever and that I'm ultimately looking for something a little... else. I moved back home; and after living on my own for five years I have to admit that it feels funny, to say the least. See? Not a student, but not really an adult. Even if I were to have imagined myself at 25, my letter would have been so lofty that upon reading it I might have actually burst into tears. Perhaps I should be glad that I could never figure out what my mid-twenties were supposed to be like.
And I guess that's it right there - it's not really supposed to be anything, but it's everything all at the same time. It's love and loss. It's winning and not. It's good, it's bad. It's all-you-can-eat Japanese with your family one night, getting dolled up for a club only to be thrown out later for being obnoxiously over-intoxicated the next, and geeky, cheery goodness at Medieval Times the following. Looking back at my youth (gosh, that makes me sound old, but I didn't know how else to say it), I can confidently state that I did most of my "growing up" in my twenties - and will continue to do so.
So here's to the lack of birthday letter and to realizing that I had no idea what was to come. As much as I have an idea of who I'd like to be at this point in my life and who I am already, I've gotta say that at the very least, I'm pretty happy. And very grateful. Here's to those next decades, the ones in which I know myself, but in the meantime, here's to the rest of this decade now - whatever it may be.
Cheers.
You have entered the most turbulent decade of your life. These are the years you'll experience your greatest loves, your greatest breakups, your greatest victories and your greatest hardships, all of which will lead you to the greatest decades of all: the ones in which you'll know yourself.
I shared it with my best friend, and then with my brother, on their birthdays. Though I found it after I had already entered my twenties, it made my heart swell as though it had just taken a deep breath of relief. It comforted me and gave me much hope. Hope for those greatest of loves and victories, and hope, too, for those lessons learned from the greatest of breakups and hardships. Most of all, I wanted that tiny flicker of light at the end of this long decade to get bigger - I wanted to know myself.
I'm not sure I feel much different at 25 than I did a few years ago. Different than 19 and 21? Of course. The amount of time that I spend drunk out of my mind has decreased dramatically. But being 23 and 24 feels like it was just... seven days ago. It's almost as if I'm disappointed that I don't know myself better at this point (ridiculous, I know), but I think I've proven myself to be the type who has terribly high expectations of ...well, everything.
When I was younger, I often imagined what I would be like when I grew up. And when I got into writing myself birthday letters, those daydreams and fantasies manifested themselves into full blown predictions and desires captured in my loopy scrawl and sealed into envelopes for years at a time. When I turned 16, I read a letter I wrote to myself at 12 years old that wanted future me to have a stereo and CDs and be "cool". Turning 23, I read a letter from 20 year old me which was emo as all heck... something about love and crying and goodness knows what. The one I liked best was the letter I wrote to myself on my 16th birthday for an older me at 20. I was cute and charming, almost funny. I spoke to myself like I was my own friend. And sometimes, I think I forget that: I am my own friend.
It seems that even the farthest reaches of my over-active imagination could only ever see me at 20, at the oldest - for I never wrote a letter to an older me after that. On the eve of my birthday last Friday, I kind of wished that I had a letter to look forward to in the morning. I suppose imagining 16 and 20 were kind of easy - 16 being smack dab in the middle of all that was to be dramatic teenagedom, and 20 being on that cusp of almost-adulthood. I'll admit that when I was 21 or so I saw myself at 27, but only because that was the age at which I always thought I'd be getting married. And being 27 sounded really cool to me because I was reading the blog of someone who was 27 at the time and gee, I just thought she was the neatest thing ever. But what of 25?
Right now it kind of feels like no-man's land, and fuzzy at best. I finished school just about a year ago now, but my ties there are still strong enough to make me feel connected (plus, I miss my life in my campus city SO DAMN MUCH) to the point where I say that I "just" finished school. I'm working a full-time 9 to 5 gig, but I don't really feel that it's "me" quite yet. I kind of know deep down that I won't be there forever and that I'm ultimately looking for something a little... else. I moved back home; and after living on my own for five years I have to admit that it feels funny, to say the least. See? Not a student, but not really an adult. Even if I were to have imagined myself at 25, my letter would have been so lofty that upon reading it I might have actually burst into tears. Perhaps I should be glad that I could never figure out what my mid-twenties were supposed to be like.
And I guess that's it right there - it's not really supposed to be anything, but it's everything all at the same time. It's love and loss. It's winning and not. It's good, it's bad. It's all-you-can-eat Japanese with your family one night, getting dolled up for a club only to be thrown out later for being obnoxiously over-intoxicated the next, and geeky, cheery goodness at Medieval Times the following. Looking back at my youth (gosh, that makes me sound old, but I didn't know how else to say it), I can confidently state that I did most of my "growing up" in my twenties - and will continue to do so.
So here's to the lack of birthday letter and to realizing that I had no idea what was to come. As much as I have an idea of who I'd like to be at this point in my life and who I am already, I've gotta say that at the very least, I'm pretty happy. And very grateful. Here's to those next decades, the ones in which I know myself, but in the meantime, here's to the rest of this decade now - whatever it may be.
Cheers.
Monday, April 6, 2009
How to Cope with Your Quarterlife Crisis
by Elena Vasquez
Welcome to the Real World full of deadlines, bills, limited vacation time, mortgages, and student loans. 401Ks and credit scores suddenly define who you are. We replaced juice boxes with half price margaritas and our lunch hour with a quick lunch at our desk. Many of us still look forward to that midday “recess,” whether to indulge in coffee or the latest office gossip. The promise of freedom in the Real World seems more like an urban legend. In reality, it feels like we are all still smiling awkwardly behind a mouth full of braces.
Many call the awkward phase from an individual’s twenties to early thirties, the Quarterlife Crisis. This is the time when people transition from adolescence to adulthood. Suddenly a new population fills the work force, and, in most cases, they have no preparation whatsoever with balancing a checkbook, taking care of a household, or investing their paycheck.
In college, there were plenty of classes to choose from, but most colleges didn’t offer “how to be a grown-up”; therefore, most recent graduates are left to fend for themselves and maybe surf the web in hopes of finding some helpful hints using Google.
Read the rest here:
http://www.tooshytostop.com/index.php/2009/04/02/how-to-cope-with-your-quarterlife-crisis/
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Grad School: The Cure for the Common Quarter-Life Crisis
Okay, I started this post in the beginning of the school year when I was still bright-eyed and bushy-tailed; still able to do my work without my eyes falling out of my head; still marginally happy about my decision to go back to graduate school.
Oh how times changed. That was all before the institution of the weekly emotional breakdown. It happened like clockwork on Friday at about 6pm and, if I didn't do anything about it, lasted through the weekend. During this time I did any number of things including but not limited to crying, whimpering, looking at pictures from years past, eating my feelings (the only reason I know how to bake cookies), picking fights with my boyfriend, accusing him of things he probably did not do, and of not doing things he probably did.
If you tack the stress of finals on the end of the breakdowns, that pretty much sums up first semester for me.
Graduate school has, however, done some fabulous things for me. First and foremost, it has given me a purpose - a real reason to get out of bed in the morning. And, other than Sunday brunches and kicking other people's asses in yoga class (yeah I know it's a ludicrous concept), I was lacking a purpose.
Now, I know that sounds ridiculous, but it's true. No more floating through life waiting for something interesting to come along and challenge me. Now I get slammed with interesting shit ALL DAY. I can't outrun it! I spend my days examining the relationship between capitalism and democracy (or, as I have begun to intentionally mistype it just for a giggle, democrazy). Reading Chomsky and Bagdikian and Mills and pondering (I'm always pondering these days) what is to be done? ALL THE FUCKING TIME.
Which brings me to the second wonderful thing about graduate school: vacation.
I have spent the last month vacating and allowing cable TV and wine to obliterate any intelligence I may have gained in the last four months. The word "vacation" has never been so laden with meaning for me as it has in the last month, as I have felt totally and absolutely vacant. As in "The brain has exited the building."
Now, it has come to my attention that us 20 somethings have a slightly misconstrued view of what vacation is, so I thought I would take some time to clear it up for all of us. Let's start with what vacation is not:
Rule #1: A family vacation is no vacation at all.
The idea of a family vacation is oxymoronic. Intead let's call it a family trip; an outing; an annual reminder of why you don't all share one house anymore. I don't care how much you love your family; I love hanging out with my family - they're hilarious and fun and we all eat and drink well, but hanging out with them or going somewhere with them is not vacation. It's a different beast altogether.
Rule #2: Setting aside five days for vacation guarantees only one day of actual relaxation.
It always takes me at least 2 days to entirely unwind from my real life, and then I invariably start thinking about real life in the two days before I leave, so I really only forget the rest of the world and relax for about one day. This "real" relaxation should not be confused with "apparant" relaxation (such as when I watch 6 hours of Top Chef followed by 2 hours of Queer Eye reruns). So remember, if you're planning a vacation, think big, or rather, long. (That's what she said!)
Rule #3: Vacation means you have to leave the house.
My best friend Tasha called me a few weeks ago and told me that she used one of her vacation days that day. And I said, wow - you don't often take vacations so that's a big deal. What are you doing? And she said, well, I've already cleaned my floors and made breakfast and now I'm looking some stuff up on the computer. And then I said, Tash! That's not a vacation. Because it's only vacation if you leave the house. (Which was really just my way of getting to her drive 40 minutes from her home to come visit me because I was too lazy to leave the house - Note to self: write new post on new and creative ways to manipulate your friends). This rule was difficult for me, as I spent nearly a full month in my dad's house watching TV wondering why I didn't feel relaxed. It isn't until you get your ass up and go somewhere else that you actually started to relax (unless, as it turns out, that place is New York, in which case you can only relax if you decide to hide from all of your friends).
Rule #4: Take a man/Don't take a man
Don't get my wrong, I love going on vacation with my boyfriend. He is sweet and wonderful and we have a fabulous time. And it's of course nice just to shake things up a little. But I'm going to offer my plug for going on vacation either alone or with your friends. Not because your man puts a damper on your fun-having abilities, but rather because being selfish and gluttonous is part of vacation and if you're planning on getting married you can't just up and leave when you feel like having some alone time. So let's get that shit out of the way when it's still kosher.
I am only now just ending my vacation and beginning to feel purposeless once more. And so I welcome my impending nervous breakdowns and mental torture with open arms like they're old friends. I have even been reteaching myself how to read in anticipation of the new semester. And slowly weaning myself off of cable.
Oh Fine Living Network reruns...I'll miss you the most.
Oh how times changed. That was all before the institution of the weekly emotional breakdown. It happened like clockwork on Friday at about 6pm and, if I didn't do anything about it, lasted through the weekend. During this time I did any number of things including but not limited to crying, whimpering, looking at pictures from years past, eating my feelings (the only reason I know how to bake cookies), picking fights with my boyfriend, accusing him of things he probably did not do, and of not doing things he probably did.
If you tack the stress of finals on the end of the breakdowns, that pretty much sums up first semester for me.
Graduate school has, however, done some fabulous things for me. First and foremost, it has given me a purpose - a real reason to get out of bed in the morning. And, other than Sunday brunches and kicking other people's asses in yoga class (yeah I know it's a ludicrous concept), I was lacking a purpose.
Now, I know that sounds ridiculous, but it's true. No more floating through life waiting for something interesting to come along and challenge me. Now I get slammed with interesting shit ALL DAY. I can't outrun it! I spend my days examining the relationship between capitalism and democracy (or, as I have begun to intentionally mistype it just for a giggle, democrazy). Reading Chomsky and Bagdikian and Mills and pondering (I'm always pondering these days) what is to be done? ALL THE FUCKING TIME.
Which brings me to the second wonderful thing about graduate school: vacation.
I have spent the last month vacating and allowing cable TV and wine to obliterate any intelligence I may have gained in the last four months. The word "vacation" has never been so laden with meaning for me as it has in the last month, as I have felt totally and absolutely vacant. As in "The brain has exited the building."
Now, it has come to my attention that us 20 somethings have a slightly misconstrued view of what vacation is, so I thought I would take some time to clear it up for all of us. Let's start with what vacation is not:
Rule #1: A family vacation is no vacation at all.
The idea of a family vacation is oxymoronic. Intead let's call it a family trip; an outing; an annual reminder of why you don't all share one house anymore. I don't care how much you love your family; I love hanging out with my family - they're hilarious and fun and we all eat and drink well, but hanging out with them or going somewhere with them is not vacation. It's a different beast altogether.
Rule #2: Setting aside five days for vacation guarantees only one day of actual relaxation.
It always takes me at least 2 days to entirely unwind from my real life, and then I invariably start thinking about real life in the two days before I leave, so I really only forget the rest of the world and relax for about one day. This "real" relaxation should not be confused with "apparant" relaxation (such as when I watch 6 hours of Top Chef followed by 2 hours of Queer Eye reruns). So remember, if you're planning a vacation, think big, or rather, long. (That's what she said!)
Rule #3: Vacation means you have to leave the house.
My best friend Tasha called me a few weeks ago and told me that she used one of her vacation days that day. And I said, wow - you don't often take vacations so that's a big deal. What are you doing? And she said, well, I've already cleaned my floors and made breakfast and now I'm looking some stuff up on the computer. And then I said, Tash! That's not a vacation. Because it's only vacation if you leave the house. (Which was really just my way of getting to her drive 40 minutes from her home to come visit me because I was too lazy to leave the house - Note to self: write new post on new and creative ways to manipulate your friends). This rule was difficult for me, as I spent nearly a full month in my dad's house watching TV wondering why I didn't feel relaxed. It isn't until you get your ass up and go somewhere else that you actually started to relax (unless, as it turns out, that place is New York, in which case you can only relax if you decide to hide from all of your friends).
Rule #4: Take a man/Don't take a man
Don't get my wrong, I love going on vacation with my boyfriend. He is sweet and wonderful and we have a fabulous time. And it's of course nice just to shake things up a little. But I'm going to offer my plug for going on vacation either alone or with your friends. Not because your man puts a damper on your fun-having abilities, but rather because being selfish and gluttonous is part of vacation and if you're planning on getting married you can't just up and leave when you feel like having some alone time. So let's get that shit out of the way when it's still kosher.
I am only now just ending my vacation and beginning to feel purposeless once more. And so I welcome my impending nervous breakdowns and mental torture with open arms like they're old friends. I have even been reteaching myself how to read in anticipation of the new semester. And slowly weaning myself off of cable.
Oh Fine Living Network reruns...I'll miss you the most.
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