Alright fine, I am not so much a mere twenty-something but a late-twenties lady. Twenty-something makes the possibility endless, like I could be twenty-one, or twenty-four, or twenty-four and a three quarters. There are infinite numbers between twenty and twenty-nine. I could have been any one of those. But no, I am in late twenties, practically thirty in 2-3 years (give or take). Sigh* You see, existential quarter-life crisis at full throttle.
1. How far along in life am I suppose to be now? By now, should I be a Senior Manager? Or is just Manager at my company good enough? Should I be taking marriage and children more seriously? Should I be concerned that those are never the thoughts that keep me up at night?
2. Its been two years since I began my manuscript. I still only have a little over 10,000 words, am I incapable of ever finishing up the book? Did I really just overestimate my writing abilities? Will just the little bit of my writing that I had hoped would be my little mark upon the world when Im gone never come to fruition? Was I stupid to think I am even capable of leaving a little mark upon the world, no matter how minuscule?
3. Why all of a sudden have I developed a sudden need/desire to seek out the one true thing that will make me happy. Why didnt I take my “whims and fancy” more seriously when I was younger and could afford to try new things, make mistakes, and then figure my shit out?
4. Who decided that life has to have all these milestones to measure by? Why are most of us, despite knowing better, so inherently concerned about meeting these milestones?
5. Why must everyone be expected to work extremely hard so you can be a “true success?” And when you do meet society’s standard of being that successful and that powerful, why must you down play the working extremely hard part to make it seem like everything brilliant comes so effortlessly to you? No one has the midas touch, NO ONE!
6. When did we begin to value a person’s worth only by looking at how many other people know about what they have accomplished? Why must the value of one persons life be inextricably linked to how many other people know about the said person’s life? Like, why does it feel like the world cares a little bit more about Snooki (of the Jersey Shore fame) than the nonprofit worker in my neighborhood whose built so many libraries for children in rural Bhutan?
7. And even when I realize that I often have the answers to all these nonsense existential questions I ask myself constantly, why is it that I choose to hide behind the “confusion” than to pull myself up by my bootstraps and make the leap to live the life I truly want instead of teetering precariously on the verge of contentment and confinement.
I read all these articles in women’s magazines where famous ladies write short pieces titled, ‘advice to my younger self,’ or ‘things i’d tell my twenty-something self,’ etc. and I often wonder too, if time travel really existed, what would my thirty-something self tell my twenty-something bemused self right now? Also, where did my thirty-something self get those fabulous boots and how in the world did I afford them? But I digress….