Thrown with Great Force

whiteglovesandpartymanners:

When I was in college, I couldn’t wait until my twenty-first birthday.  Not because I would be of legal drinking age, (puh-lease - I had a fake i.d. and three back up forms since I was sixteen) but because I would be older.  I would be able to keep up with my 29 year old boyfriend and all his friends who had a hell of a time, great jobs and took rad trips without having to check with their parents first.  I wanted to grow up; and quickly.

Twenty-one came, twenty-two and three and I was having a blast.  I graduated college, got a job that blew my mind each and every day I stepped in the office and most importantly - I had no worries.  Well, I worried about how many calories I was eating during the day and if I would be able to have late night dinner and drinks with my girlfriends, but I digress…

Then I turned twenty-four.  My relationship ended, my job came to a very abrupt ending far outside of anyone’s control. I found myself lost.  The bad kind of lost.  The kind where I woke up in the morning, took a bubble bath, read a book and then wentouteverysinglenight.  Sounds fun?  Not every day for four straight months.  But again, I digress…

Suddenly, I wished for my adolescence to return.  And not college — youth.  I longed to sit in front of the television, watching Strawberry Shortcake with my stuffed animals and waiting for my mom to bring in a peanut butter and honey sandwich and a glass of juice.

Most of us are in our mid to late twenties, not married - and a little confused on what we really want to do with our lives.  We see our parents generation, who had their grown up lives in tact by their early twenties and we wonder exactly why we didn’t follow in those footsteps.  How can it be that our peers are still out at happy hour and changing partners faster than they change their underwear every day?  We worry so much about our weight, our appearence, keeping up with the latest EVERYTHING, keeping up with pop culture and television programming.

Sure, I’m not itching to get married.  I don’t have “baby fever” and I am secure and happy in my career — but there’s still an essence of being lost in this grand journey that is my twenties.  The quarter-life crisis lives and it lives inside of me.  Every day.

I’ve never been a jealous person, or wanted something someone else had (I can’t count my faults on both hands either…there’s a laundry list) — but too many people look at the lives of others and feel like they need to be at the same level as their peers.  And since we are all guilty of comparing ourselves to celebs, here’s what a handful of them say about their twenties:

Reese Witherspoon: “I used to judge myself so harshly.  I think women in their twenties do…but you start to realize that none of it is really all that important.”

Jen Aniston: “I feel more comfortable today than I ever did in my twenties.”

Jenny McCarthy: “I feel so much better than I did in my twenties when I was a Playmate with boobs.”

Katherine Heigl: “I didn’t know who I was or what I wanted.”

These quotes came from last week’s issue of US Weekly along with a two page spread of celebrity pictures from years ago compared to recent pictures.  The plastic surgery they have is unreal.  Mostly nose jobs.  They all start out looking like us…I continue to digress, damnit.

So, how do we survive?  I don’t have the answers.  But I have an idea. Prayer.  Faith.  Independence.  Real independence…not just the realization that you live by yourself in a big city and make your own meals.  Reach inside of yourself and find your strength.  Be comfortable with the fact that you could be without some big bad career, a spouse and kids and a normal domesticated life - and you’re ok with that.  When you are secure in yourself and the life you can provide for yourself, everything else will fall into place.  But you have to believe it.  Really believe it.

What I’m trying to say is that this life isn’t meant for big jobs, big cars, big fun with big people.  It’s not meant for $1,500 dollar handbags or a great pair of boots.  We aren’t supposed to act like people we aren’t. We are meant to be ourselves.  We are meant to give of ourselves to others and help those who can’t help themselves.  There is so much more we can GIVE than we can ever recieve.  And we’ll feel a lot better about it in the end.

Now, don’t get me wrong…if we have nice things, do fun things, work there or here then GREAT.  Even better, in fact.  But if not, it’s ok.  This is YOUR life.  It is what it is, and you should be grateful for every minute of it.

That’s what I have learned since my tender age of twenty-four.  I still have a handful of years to go before I reach the what I hear is much easier 30’s…but at least I’ve found a way to survive until that day comes.

Emphasis mine, because it’s something I needed someone to tell me just now.

caryrandolph:

The roommate broke down for me her recent slow demise with the ex. Or was he an ex? Was he ever her boyfriend? For seven months he took her to dinner, helped her move furniture, cooked brunch in his Upper East Side apartment. They watched Netflix together. Her friends dated his friends. Some times they double-dated with her friends and his friends. (I was never one of those friends, although I am sure he has very nice friends.) He made small talk. He paid for the cabs. He popped up in her calendar at least two nights each week. But he wasn’t her boyfriend.

If he walks like a boyfriend, and he talks like a boyfriend, he must be a boyfriend, right? Alas, for Roommate it was not so easy. For approximately half of that seven month period, she and her gentleman played a passive-aggressive game of “Who Can Care Less?” He avoided discussion, and she refused to force the issue, lest she morph into one of those snake-haired, psychotic boyfriend hunters that twenty-something New York men have learned to fear and loathe.

“Feelings” became a pejorative term.

Sometimes I would come home from wherever I had been on whatever night, sobbing about my own melodramatics, and Roommate’s fellow cheered me up with good-natured advice, and then we all laughed and exclaimed, “Feelings!” and I chuckled through my tears and thought about how easy life would be if we could pack the words “boyfriend” and “girlfriend” and “relationships” into a rocket ship and launch them on a collision course with the outer rings of Saturn. Sometimes I would tell Roommate, “[Your fellow] is so great!” and she would fake laugh, like, “If you only knew…” and then we’d sit on the sofa and watch snow fall and paint our toenails, and bitch, bitch, bitch about our love lives, and WHY WOULDN’T HE NUT UP AND CALL HER HIS GIRLFRIEND?

Finally one day in September she pulled the trigger. “Are you dating anyone else?” she asked. He said, “No.”

“Well, do you want to date anyone else?”

He looked at her like she’d grown a dorsal fin and said, “Isn’t that the same thing?”

No, son. It isn’t. And by the end of the conversation all they had determined was that a) his romantic inertia did not a boyfriend make, and b) he just didn’t give a goddamn. Roommate did not particularly want a future husband, but she did want to know if he wanted a girlfriend or wanted to be her boyfriend so that she could then take new opportunities should they fly in her direction because deep down maybe she did want a boyfriend, and the non-ex-but-really-an-ex just wanted someone to come over three nights a week and cook him pasta and pie and shut the fuck up about feelings.

Or so I hear.

I (happily) have no prospects, but then again, I always strive to be above average and I’m thinking that’s a very attainable goal here.

Not that I went through my phone contacts to jog my memory as I was tallying or anything.