Secrets From The Otherside or Being An Adult - Part 1
In a few short days I will be turning 27. Though not much changes year to year when you’re in your mid-to-late twenties, this one seems big. Firstly, 27 sounds definitively older than 26. Secondly, this will be my first full year as a married lady. Thirdly, this will be my third full year as a homeowner. Fourthly, this will be my fifth full year at my office monkey job.
Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Wait. Did I just read myself correctly? I’m in my mid-to-late twenties. I’m married? I own a home?? I work in a cube??? My 16 yr old self is dying a little inside. (Or at lot…on the outside…and writing about it on the internet). While, even at 16 I figured I’d be married by now (to Chris Conley) - I never wanted to own a home. I never wanted to be settled. And I most certainly was not going to ever ever ever work a “bullshit 9 to 5” (direct quote from my live journal circa early 2001).
I was going to be an artist and a writer. I was going to be with a skinny emo* band guy and we were going to travel. I was going to see the world. And write about it. I was going to take photographs and collage. I was going to learn graffiti. I was going to wear jeans a band t-shirts all the time. And it was going to be freaking awesome.
*for you little ones playing at home - emo —> sad (not in an ironic way) hipster.
This is something I wanted. I wanted it so bad that I decided to get my undergraduate degree in creative writing. I spent four years working on short fiction to submit in the form of a thesis and after all was said and done in mid-May 2007, I had a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree and a buttload of student loans. (And a menial retail paper job. Not like the Office. More like Papyrus but less douchey)
I spent that summer drinking lots – with work friends. And by myself. I cried a lot. I didn’t know what I was going to do. I wasn’t going to grad school. I needed something more.
Near the tail end of summer I started really panicking. Student loan payments were due up and $11.50/hr wasn’t gonna cut it. I made a desperate plea to the universe for something to let me continue living off the streets and out of my parents’ basement. Universe answered with an office job - with a decent starting salary and benefits – in retirement services plan management.
Five years later, I’ve been through a lot. The first couple years at the job I rebelled against what my life had become. Cube monkey. Business casual. Casual Fridays. And then at some point, I stopped being an asshole and started getting to know the people I worked with. They were funny and weird and normal. They weren’t uptight jerks.
Right around the time I started befriending my coworkers, I realized that my job didn’t have to define who I was. I had a steady paycheck and weekends off and paid vacation time. I could have my job and I could have my life outside of my job. This made me happy.
Don’t get me wrong. Every so often, I’ll go back and read in my journal (yeah, I’m still talking about live journal) and feel wistful for what could have been. Sometimes I come across some of my former classmates and see how they’re living it up in LA or New York and feel inadequate. But most of the time, I’m just happy. I’m married to the best person I know. I own a house! (A whole house…and a yard…and a driveway!) I have a pretty amazing cat. I have the greatest and most talented friends. Damn, Gina. I’m doing just fine.
So there is it – I’m a real (almost) 27 yr old adult and it’s not scary or boring or mundane. It’s pretty awesome. I’m still myself and I can take a grown-up vacation. Maybe 16 yr old me wouldn’t be so disappointed after all.
