Turning 30: What Happened In My 20s Stays In My 20s. Right After This Blog.

{Today, at 3:33 pm, I’ll turn 30. It’s sort of hard to sum up a decade of madness, men and mistakes in a few words, so this is the closest you’ll ever come to Blunt Cliff Notes. While procrastinating this post, I also gave the blog a facelift. And if you can figure out how to remove that stupid orange outline on my sidebar, you would make my day.}

I always wondered what the big deal was about “thirty.”  It’s not like you’re over the hill or filling out hospice papers. It’s just thirty. 

It’s not like you have to start bringing dishes to pass at family gatherings because you are no longer a kid. It’s not like you’re going to start getting open mouth stares at the mention of being single and childless. It’s not like your license expires and your health insurance goes up. It’s not like recovery time from a night out goes from a cheeseburger and a Gatorade to a four-day process in which you hurt in places that make no sense.

Oh wait.

It is hard to remember what my life used to be like. Over the past decade, I’ve seen the best and worst in others. And I’ve seen the best and worst in myself – mostly the worst, but hey, at least that’s out of the way. At twenty, I was still with my high school boyfriend. Love was making out in dark parking lots, while I made up sixty-five different excuses as to why I didn’t answer my mom’s call. It was overdone Valentine’s Day gifts with lots of tacky red things and inedible candy hearts. And now that I have actual perspective, I can say that, yea, we loved the crap out of each other. He taught me about selfless, unconditional love. That relationship set a pattern as I left with a haunting feeling of doubt and remained in a perpetual state of confusion for years over what I wanted and needed and how I would find that balance. If I would ever find it.

I was in college not because my parents forced me or because I had great aspirations in life. That’s just what everyone did. And I love the feeling of the first day of school. I lost friends as quickly as I made them in the fickle world of self-absorbed, hormone-driven college students just trying to fit in – quite the contrast to my tiny, private high school with the same kids I’d known since 1st grade. My English 103 teacher told me I had the best talent for writing she had ever seen – frankly, I thought she was flirting with me and I didn’t give two craps as long as I passed.

Mid college years, I fell for a guy who had nearly all the criteria on my “need” list at the time. Love was possession and control. I felt claustrophobic. Doubtful; but unsure of even my doubt. It wasn’t until a year when I realized he had merely been an illusion of what I needed. The first, and least damaging, of many manipulators I would encounter in my twenties. He taught me that people always tell us the truth about themselves – it’s our fault if we don’t listen.

Amid that discovery, I was grasping for an escape. I was looking to be rescued. I needed direction and inspiration. The boy who worked in the college bookstore became all of those things to me. Love was passion and risk. He understood me in a way that has to be earned, yet we had just met. One snowy night as I walked to my car, he grabbed me and we had a conversation that changed the course of my life. He encouraged me to write. To take chances. To skip class because there are only so many perfectly beautiful fall days that one can spend daydreaming and listening to Radiohead. In a cowardly act of bravery – yes, that’s possible – I left on a plane for London the following month. Cowardly, because I was escaping. Brave, because the biggest risk I had ever taken was not brushing my teeth before bed. However, escaping didn’t work as well as I had hoped after a surprise proposal attempt from my ex.

As I explored Europe, I carried a journal of all the people I’d met. I fell in love with their stories. It was then, halfway across the world, that I realized I wanted to write for more than just a passing grade.

I came home with fresh perspective. New dreams. I started my own retail store and left college. The next two years involved a hellish ordeal of which I don’t really want to indulge. It isn’t worth it. Let’s just say, I naively thought it my obligation to do everything I could to help this person I thought I loved. I realize now it wasn’t love, because he wasn’t even who I thought he was. But I tried, while hiding it from everyone at the expense of my business and my sanity. The next two years would be an actual, literal nightmare of which I was scared to awake. Love was survival. Love was fear. Fear for his life. Fear for my life. I spent my days regretting every decision I’d made to that point. And my nights, doing anything I could to forget. 

Craving normalcy, I created a safe life for myself inside the walls of my first house and my bank job – which I hated, but figured that was what it meant to grow up. Friends were also growing up and getting families and 2.5 baths. I had finally found a stable guy who was so right in so many ways. We fought often, yet were so compatible on the “big” issues. Love was comfort and safety. When a ring entered the picture, I said yes, but my gut said no – and I wasn’t entirely sure why.

I’d lost my job, my fiancé and whatever was left of my sanity. Had a cancer scare. Men came and went. I learned how to be alone. I took up photography. A tumultuous year of jobless insomnia and depression led me back to writing and what once seemed an impossible feat became a reality. I started this blog and my freelance writing career took off, which led me to magazine jobs and editorial jobs and all sorts of things I’d dreamed of years ago in that dorm room with the boy from the bookstore. In fact,I contacted him and said  that ironically, he had inspired my first nationally published story.

I eventually got back together with my ex-fiance because of the idea of what we could be. We were good at pretending things were good. A month shy of our wedding, I left. It was incredibly scary, but in the end, we both saw it for what it was. He taught me about forgiveness, second chances and that there is such a thing as a good person who just isn’t good for you.

In many ways, I am glad to leave my twenties behind. And in many ways, I’m sad to say goodbye. They have been transformational. Interesting. Saddening. Inspiring.

The men have taught me a lot – what love looks like and what it most certainly does not. They’ve taught me that being alone isn’t scary, and it’s better than being fake happy. I’ve discovered the distinct difference between love, infatuation, desperation and competition. I know that passion is confusing. Passion does not equal love, nor are they mutually exclusive. For love without passion is worthless. I used to deem myself a “commitment-phobe.” And now I can tell you that term only applies when you’re with the wrong person.

I’ve learned that I truly do love writing. But I will no longer do it for money, only for me. 

I am still wildly annoyed by the sound of Neil Diamond, the word sausage and the way someone looks when they have mayo on the side of their mouth after eating a Panera sandwich. I drive the same crappy purple Saturn.

So, I guess I still have some growing up to do.

 

Other posts, elsewhere, I’ve written on these topics:

The Change Blog: Losing Your Job To Live Your Dream

College Crush: My First Love, A Nice Guy, And How I Effed It All Up

I have returned to blogging over at Celery and the City where I write about clean eating, healthy living and post allergy and gluten free recipes!

Dear Me 10 Years Ago,

So I cleaned out my garage. I know you’re thinking that sounds a little over ambitious, especially for me, however, I haven’t been able to park inside of it since I moved in two years ago.  This also wouldn’t be a problem if it weren’t for the fact that when it rains, my car floods.  So as I was rummaging through countless, dusty boxes of love letters, 7 bridesmaid dresses, various throw pillows from my inability to commit to a living room color, a shot glass collection, a postcard collection, a key chain collection, and inventory from my retail store, I found my favorite discovery of all – an old hot pink Composition notebook and mystery container from Haiti.
spanish-homework

EXIBIT A

What first appeared to be a refuge for Spanish homework, turned out to have many hidden and wondrous glimpses into my life back in 2001.

I’d just like to ask if anyone has a clue why I was writing natural remedies for common hair care dilemmas in the middle of my Spanish homeworkPlease see EXHIBIT A and respond to me with any suggestions you may have.

Your answers may unlock the mystery to a lifetime of complex issues.

Among the most amazing of all discoveries was: 1. a list of qualifications for my future mate, and 2. a list of  20 “Things I Will Accomplish.” Written with the same authority and determination of any 18 year old with a bad case of ADHD and no sense of the world whatsoever.  Today we will simply tackle “Things I Will Accomplish.”

Dear Me 10 Years Ago,

I understand that you’re just a kid with lofty dreams, but there are some things you need to understand. In glancing over your list, I can’t help but notice you’re a bit obsessed with the Spanish culture according to points #2, #12, and #13, which is perplexing, but I assure you this is only a phase that will last about as long as your next boyfriend.   Your desire to eat tacos for consecutive weeks on end, however, will not subside.

to-do-list

adjustments have been made in RED

#6 – In regards to Paris, please don’t go. Just trust me on this one. #13 -Stick to your guns on studying abroad in South America.  Please don’t allow a charming, dark-haired boy, who has mesmerized you with his intelligence and ability to play Radiohead songs, to talk you into going to London instead.  If, by chance, you do end up in London, please do your best to avoid allBritish-Indian men who wear Versace Couture leather jackets and get regular facials.  If ever there was a time you should accept advice, it would be now.

# 4 -Yes, please get your teeth fixed.  Who are you, Jewel? #7 – On a more serious note, Oprah is a beotch, but you’ll have to learn the hard way.  Even the future you cannot possibly convince you otherwise at this point.  #1 – When you finally go to Italy and accomplish your childhood dream, please don’t drop your camera off the edge of the Coliseum.  They make wrist straps for a reason.  And seatbelts, but that’s a dead horse.

#8 – Don’t try to learn the guitar.  Remember Spanish?  Please stop trying to learn new things, it’s getting expensive and you’re making it increasingly hard to accomplish #18. #19 – LASIC?  Is this really on your ‘Things To Accomplish’ list?  What the heal is wrong with you? Do you want to die?  Have you seen Stevie Wonder lately?!  You just sit tight, four eyes.

#10 – I’m sorry for all the incessant laughter.  But in about 10 years, you’ll see why this is hilarious. #17 – What are you, some kind of freak #3 – Oh, boy.  If you had any idea how much you won’t be accomplishing this.  Ever.  So, please don’t try.  Again, focus on #18.

#20 – Yea, good luck with that.

Love,

Future You.

P.S. When you do meet Enrique Iglesias, please start walking away the first time your friend mentions she wants to sneak backstage and touch his rock-hard abs.  She’s not joking.  And neither are the cops.

So You’re Telling Me You’re Not MARRIED?!

Hold on to your clip on ties. I want you to pop a squat and take a moment to regret all the stupid decisions that you’ve made today.  And since you’re probably gonna break a sweat, I’m gonna cool you off with a tropical breeze of insightful knowledge.

My mom gave me a vacuum and a cactus as a housewarming present.  Half of this gift confused me.  The vacuum was a given, considering, along with mowing the grass, that is my mom’s second favorite pastime.  We don’t have sufficient time right now, or a licensed psychologist, to get into the mechanics of why exactly these are my mom’s favorite pastimes. But a cactus?

Mom: “You need to have some other living thing to keep you company.  And this is the only thing that’s impossible to kill.”

Fair enough.  But as of last night, I can say with all the conviction of an OJ Simpson trial, that my mother has been officially wrong about something in her life.  That cactus is a goner.  And as I was dumping it out into my garbage can, I thought, What kind of person can’t keep a cactus alive?” The answer, unmistakably blaring in my eardrums like a bad ACDC cover band, was:  the kind of person that probably shouldn’t procreate.

Maybe I subconsciously killed it cus I hate all things Southwestery. I don’t know.  That being said, there’s not a solitary day that goes by when I don’t break out into a musical-esque song and dance like something out of the Sound of Music or a freecreditreport.com commercial, rejoicing over the fact that I’m not married yet, nor do I have any illegitimate children.  This is not merely due to my phobia surrounding all things associated with commitment, but also due to the fact that if I’d of married any of my previous boyfriends – I’d be taking a sightseeing trip to the Brooklyn Bridge very soon.  So I could effectively end my life by jumping into that ice-cold, watery abyss.

weddings1I find, however, that the rest of the world doesn’t participate in my joy.  Considering the bulk of my time is divided equally between:  being in weddings, attending baby showers, and trying not to eat the entire box of ice cream right before bed – I’m around alot of “committed people.”  Here’s a quick sound bite from last weekend’s baby shower:

Friend’s Granny:  My, I haven’t seen you in ages.  Let me see that hand.  Wait…. WHAT?!

Me:  Hey, good to see you too.  How’s the assisted living complex?

Friend’s Granny:  You’re NOT MARRIED?!

Me:  Nope.  Not yet.  Wow, you look exactly the same.  …So, what’s been going on with you?

Friend’s Granny:  Wait, I thought your boyfriend proposed to you in Paris?

Me:   Well, turns out he was bipolar, who knew.  And too Italian. And his breath was funky at random times.

Friend’s Granny:   Well, I thought I heard you were going steady with some boy you met in London, what happened to him?

Me:   Yea.  Yea, I was.  Heroin addict.   Oops. ….So, do you still play Bingo every Thursday?

Friend’s Granny:  But what ever happened to that first boy you were with?  He was so …

Me:  Um…  He was a “musician.”  So, you know, he needed to follow his music.

Friend’s Granny:  Well, are you at least dating someone?!?

Me:  Yes, he’s very nice.

Friend’s Granny: He’s nice? Well, then why haven’t you snatched him up yet? You better get him before someone else does!!

Me:   Um.  What? I’m not quite ready.

Friend’s Granny:   You’re running out of TIME!

Me:  Time? Like, as in my lifespan?   Didn’t you just turn 92?

Friend’s Granny:  Can you at least do me one small favor?

Me:  Sure. What’s that?

Friend’s Granny:  The next time I see you, can you at the very least have a baby?

Other articles you  might enjoy:

A Boy, Not Yet A Woman

How To Talk Yourself Out Of Dating Almost Anyone

What Women Really Want

Paris Can Bite Me

Teenage Acne and an Italian Boyfriend