by Rebecca Gardner
A year has passed since we crossed that stage, adorned in tassels and false senses of security. We were told that the world was our oyster and the sky the limit. So we shook the hands of our professors, reassured our families that we would visit on the holidays, and set out to change the world.
About that…
I am convinced that Sex in the City completely compromised any hope I had of finding satisfaction in what awaited me. There was no doubt in my mind that I would end up with my compadres in a rent-controlled flat on the corner of Spring and Green. As it turns out, Mr. Big is a fictional character and you can’t buy Jimmy Choos on a new hire salary. As far as Manhattan is concerned, I live closer to 8 mile than Park Avenue. So let’s just say, my happy ending was a little bit more like falling down the rabbit hole. While I am pretty certain I did not land in wonderland, rumor has it, I am living the dream, it is just that I don’t recall it being my own. If I had this dream at one point in time, it has mutated into a lucid dream state that anyone would be relieved to wake up from.
Maybe I am just making excuses, but my current approach to the day would suggest I have put my plan to change the world on hold. It is hard to enough to remember to pay my bills on time and muster the motivation to drag my lazy ass to the gym a couple times a week. This dissatisfaction has not only stuck fast but has now been seasoned with a dash of apathy and dollop of frustration. Such a recipe for this monotonous point in my life has conjured up an amalgamation known so fondly, or not so fondly as the quarter life crises. Thank you Google for such enlightenment. So what, you ask, is this quarter life crises all about?
The quarter life crises: when you discover parts of yourself, or aspects of the way you live that you wish would have remained unapparent and swept underneath a metaphorical carpet. Angst and uncertainty riddle you only to bring you to the more terrifying notion that you barely know where you are now. So how in the hell are you supposed to plan for your future? You miss the comforts of college, of groups, of socializing with the same people on a constant basis. But then you realize that maybe those people weren’t so great after all, just convenient. Maybe you are beginning to understand yourself and what you do and do not want. Your opinions have grown stronger. You see what others are doing and find yourself judging a bit more than usual because suddenly you realize that you actually do have certain boundaries in your life. Suddenly change is the enemy and you try and cling on to the past with dear life but soon realize that the past is drifting further and further away and there is nothing to do but stay where you are or move forward. One night stands and random hook ups start to look cheap and getting wasted and acting like an idiot starts to feel pathetic. You go through the same emotions and questions over and over and talk with your friends about the same topics because you cannot seem to make a decision. You look at your job. It is not even close to what you thought you would be doing or maybe you are looking for one and realizing that you are going to have to start at the bottom and are scared. And all can ask myself, is how in the world did it end up like this?
When I was a little girl, I wanted to be a horse or a boy like my friend Jeff, because he was fast and could make fart noises with his armpit. Over the years I reassessed such childish ambitions, and set my sights on becoming something slightly more practical like a ballerina or the president. Unfortunately, personal distaste for most things political and bad arches caused me to once again question the plausibility of my goals. My job choices changed as quickly as the seasons, but one thing remained consistent, I was always ready to say what I wanted to be.
Ironically, eight months into my first big girl job, I am unable to answer the million-dollar question. One could argue, that I am grown up, and I am in fact now “being” that person, but I hope this is not the case. I expected my grown up self to be a little more passionate about the work she was doing, a bit more courageous, a slightly less inhibited.
Either, I am contagious or social and cultural circumstances uniquely position recent college graduates to discover that the grass is not quite as green on the other side. And if it is green, it is more like thick jungle bush that is impossible to safely navigate. My quarter life crisis appears to be an epidemic among my peers, or at least my friends, and strangely enough I have found a comfort in this reality.
For the majority of childhood we are encouraged to identify what we want to be, and most children are ready to answer this question. I however, and beginning to think that what we want to be is less important. It is who we are and how we are living day to day to define ourselves that should be the focus. After 23 years of envisioning my future self as a woman who could do anything she wanted, in 3-inch pumps, my challenge is dealing with this woman and let me tell you, she is quite a handful. The distraction, for all of us in this generation, is the future, as though there is a tangible disconnect between the present and the path we are following. The reality? Time is not fragmented as we pretend it is. While it would be nice to think that one day we will wake up and *Poof*, we become the person we envision, it’s unrealistic. Cinderella, it’s midnight.
It’s time to focus on valuing the present moment, and the outlook we are cultivating within it. I want to believe in the same endless possibilities I did when I wore cowgirl boots with tutus and built forts in the den. I want to become as fixated on the moment as I was when learning to play chopsticks or fishing with dad on the lake. While I no longer want to be a horse or a boy, practicality needs to have less impact on this moment. I could do without cultural expectations as well. We can all give the experience of happiness a little more value than the pursuit of prestige. It’s ok to be unsure.
Though it seems obvious, we forget just how valuable our lives are. We only have one of them. Though our responses this idea may vary, the implication should remain the same. Value that life. Live it. Be afraid. But don’t let that fear stall you. Maybe this means finding stability and comfort in an 8-6 workweek or perhaps it is packing a bag for London without a plan. Extend a trip a day or a week because it feels right, even though practicality would say go home. Make small spaces to permit grander ideas to flourish. Know that you deserve to live by your gut and not your 5-year plan. Whatever it may be, let it mean that this moment is not a forgotten one, let it mean not being complacent or feeling obligated to measure up to some idea that is not actually your own.
I have a feeling my five year old self, would roll her eyes at me right now. She would tell me that I am being mean and grouchy. If she knew what “overanalyzing” meant, she would tell me I am doing that too. She would ask what is so bad about this moment, since it is just like another other, and if things are so rough, why not go get an ice-cream cone or join her at the park. And she, with such simplistic accusations, would be completely right. Sometimes the most important thing in the world is not to make sense of this moment, but just to live it.
