Do you remember the line in You’ve Got Mail when Meg Ryan’s character says:
Sometimes I wonder about my life. I lead a small life – well, valuable, but small – and sometimes I wonder, do I do it because I like it, or because I haven’t been brave?
Man, I love that movie. Like, love it as in I can recite line for line and somehow find a way to incorporate those lines into conversations. Love it as in, I watch it a few times a year, as if it’s the first time, nervously wondering if Kathleen Kelly and Joe Fox will ever get together.
But it’s something about that particular line that always makes me introspective and a little sad. It’s like my girl Kathleen (she and I are bffs in my head) is also tossing the question out for me to consider about my own life. It’s as if she’s reminding me that I’ve only got one life to live, and I better get started.
For the past few years, my life has felt so small. Small and safe. I graduated from college, went to grad school, dated the same guy for six years (not because we were madly in love, but because it worked), took a job in sales (which I hated) because it paid the bills, finally switched “careers” and became a fundraiser for a series of nonprofits, and all the while my love for writing has continued to tug at my coattail. And to make matters worse, I’m missing my small but invaluable support system of girlfriends who have moved away and are engrossed in their full, busy lives. So here I am, thirty-something and majorly confused. Almost every day I wake up thinking, Dear God, there has to be more to life than what I’m doing right now. Where do you want me to be?” The answer has been slow to come, but lately I’ve had a few revelations.
I try not to compare myself to others because it only depresses me more, but sometimes when I look at my peers and friends, so many appear to already be on their second or third life while I’m still trying to figure it all out. Some have lived in other cities, traveled the globe, have well-respected careers, some even manage side-hustles, and many are married with children. The furthest I’ve “lived” from Wisconsin is when I shacked with a bf in Minneapolis, and it was extremely temporary (as in 30 days). I’ve never been outside the U.S., -unless you count the Venetian experience in Vegas??? OK, didn’t think so.
The career (sigh), we’ll talk about that at length in later posts, but that’s causing the most anxiety. While I enjoy the personal fulfillment that I receive from working for a nonprofit, not to mention I’m good at what I do, I’ve also been reminded on more than one occasion that just because you’re good at something doesn’t mean that’s what you should be doing. Deeper sigh. Yes, something in the back of my mind constantly reminds that I didn’t complete two degrees in Journalism for nothing. The voice in the back of my mind keeps screaming, “You’re a writer! So write already! Just do it!” Yes, I have to admit that my ideal place is sitting in a bookstore coffee shop tapping away on my laptop crafting characters. OK, maybe my ideal place is cuddling by a fire with Idris Elba, but I digress. The point is, writing (and reading) brings me a sense of euphoria that I haven’t found doing anything else.
And as far as marriage and/or children, I’m experiencing some major commitment anxiety to both, though it’s not like anyone has come calling for my hand or my womb, but I’m just sayin’.
The other day during a much needed phone therapy conversation with a girlfriend who I consider to be the Oracle, she labeled my nagging feelings of insignificance and aimlessness with a term I’d never heard before.
“You’re having a quarter-life crisis”
“A what?” I frown through the phone.
“A quarter-life crisis,” she states again.
I blink. Sit in silence waiting for her to reveal the punch line to the joke, but instead she’s quiet as if she’s waiting for me to digest what she’s just said.
OK, she’s serious
“A quarter-life crisis? That’s ridiculous!” I exclaim.
The Oracle: “Nope, it’s real. It’s like a mid-life crisis but in your twenties and thirties.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” I roll my eyes. I want to laugh at the Oracle but don’t dare do so in her presence. Instead I make a mental note to Google the term when we hang up.
I change the subject. Pretend to not be interested in hearing anymore even though she’s never steered me wrong when I needed help tackling a problem.
But the Oracle has me wondering: “Is it really possible to have a quarter-life crisis?”
As soon as we hang up I race to my computer and hop on the Internet, search the term and voila! There are websites, newspaper articles, blogs, even a few books that have been written on the phenomenon.
I sit staring at the computer screen. Overwhelmed. Anxious, embarrassed and relieved.
It’s like finally receiving a diagnosis for persistent symptoms: You’re no less sick, but at least you have a name for what’s ailing you. And even though I’m not one for allowing other folks to label me, I definitely think it’s worth discussing. So welcome to my blog where I’ll chronicle the highs and lows associated with the occasional unsettling emotions I’m feeling toward my career, finances, friendships and dating. What I know for sure, as a nod to Oprah, is that I’m not alone.
I have to admit, I foolishly thought once I got past my terrible 20s and turned 30-something, I would have it all almost figured out. Far from it. Which brings to mind another line that’s been stuck in my head lately: Jay-Z said, “30’s the new 20”.
Jay, you ‘aint never lied.
E-mail me with your thoughts at: 30somethingblog@yahoo.com
