I was thinking last night as I was watching “Girls”, the most amazing HBO series that I’m addicted to, about being 23. I would highly recommend the series, maybe not to my mom or grandma but pretty much anyone else. The premise of the show is about being a 20 something trying to figure it out. Relatable. The characters bounce around from guy to guy in the show and it’s actually much more accurate of that age than most shows portray. There is a particular scene that Lena Dunham, the writer and main character of the show is with a particular man and she starts spilling her feelings out to him about her internal conflict.
She breaks down and states, “I made a promise to myself such a long time ago that I was going to take in experiences, all of them so that I could tell people about them and maybe save them but I guess it’s so tiring taking in all of these experiences…letting anyone say anything to me…but then I see people like you who have the fruit in the bowl and the stuff in the fridge and all of this stuff and I realize I’m not different. I want what everyone wants. I want what they all want. I want all of the things. I just want to be happy.”
This struck me because I too, want the fruit in the bowl and the stuff in the fridge. And I too, was/most days still am desperately searching for what in the hell is going to make me happy in this life. I think I’ve figured a big piece of that puzzle out but it’s about the worst conflict for me. It sounds so dumb but I’ve never really had this conversation with anyone about the seesaw that happens in my mind between wanting to be happy and my fear of not wanting a boring life. I’d be lying to you if I didn’t say it’s a conflict in my relationship. I’m starting to think they’re not mutually exclusive…happiness and not having a boring life.
When I was Lena Dunham’s age in the show, there was always a crazy story to tell. At least once a week. Usually every Wednesday morning I would wake up and wonder what on earth was wrong with myself. Tuesday was our night. Now I get tipsy off of two beers and it’s embarrassing. I guess the moral of this is somewhere between 22 and 23 I grew up. A lot.
I want the fruit in the bowl.
I think about things that are way off in the future and I teeter totter between being completely horrified and so excited about what is to come. My friends are actually getting married. Like I’m going to a wedding next weekend and one of my high school friends is actually getting married. I am currently researching apartments where I would need to buy things to put in said apartment…I have about 3 different machines to put in this apartment to make coffee but unfortunately nothing to sit on and nothing to cook in. It could get weird.
I have a surprisingly sad social life at the age 23. It is largely because of queenikathleeni which I wouldn’t trade for a night out. Ok, maybe just one. And the fact that all of my friends are doing amazing things. One is a copy writer, one is becoming a vet, we have a PA in the mix and I actually have no idea what my best friend does in Chicago but I fully support whatever it is that supports her shopping habits. Mainly because I have the same problem.
There are some great things about being 23 of course. I’m not quite sure what they are yet but don’t fret, there are some. I’m sure I’ll figure it out once I turn 24. All I have to say is I did something really right when I got jobs that allow me to come to work with a beanie on, holes in my jeans, and an oversized flannel on. It’s my individuality flag flying proud and blowing in the wind.
23 is weird. It’s in between. You’re straddling the “I have my shit together” and “I don’t want to have my shit together” line and on any given day I’m not sure what side I even want to be on. I guess I’ll take it for now. It keeps life un-boring and that’s what I’m going for right? Maybe the fruit in the bowl can wait for a couple more years and I’ll just have to be okay with having fuzz ies all over everything in my life because I did my laundry wrong again. Yea, that will do for me.