Mama Bird told me some bad news today. She no longer checks my blog every morning like she used to because…well, because I have stopped posting. I could offer excuses like work has taken over my life and made me really stressed since the 1st of April (it has), I’ve been too busy consuming ridiculous amounts of wine, beer, and other liquors to have any time to write about what happens when I do that too much (I have been), or I’ve had so much on my mind that the funny stories don’t flow as easily and I’m not quite ready to start blogging about the serious stuff (I have).
Or, I could just start posting as much I’d like to. It’ll take some shuffling of my time management skills, but I think I can make it work. I will, eventually, learn how to do it all.
For now, there’s been something on my mind that I hope hope hope will bring some commenters out of the wood-works. (Note: I realize the questions later are entirely rhetorical, but if you’re reading and you can relate – I would love to hear your insights.) It started last week when Mama Bird had the beginnings of a quarter-life crisis (she’s turning 25 in 2 weeks), to which I then decided I could completely relate, since I am the next of our close group of girls to turn 25 (in September). Then it continued to take over my wandering mind and culminated when I drunk-dialed Mama Bird Friday night at 11pm on my way home from 2 Texas-sized margaritas at Dallas BBQ (yeah, two).
I won’t speak for her this entire time, but to start off, it’s easier to use both of us as examples. Both of us are, for all intents and purposes, very happy with our lives. We both have great jobs that we actually enjoy, we both have active social lives, we are both physically fit and healthy (maybe with exception of our livers, but don’t those regenerate themselves?), we both live responsible, (relatively) financially secure lives. We’re both single, but we’re confident, beautiful girls (women? maybe not yet) with high expectations and ambitions for ourselves and others.
On a more personal note – I love my life right now. For the most part, I don’t want it to change. I can’t think of a life I’d rather be leading right now. But there’s just something not quite there. It’s so subtle, most of the time I don’t even notice. Even when I do notice, I can’t place my finger on what it is. Mama Bird feels it too – and I’m sure there TONS of other early- to mid-twenties girls in exactly the same position who know just what I’m talking about.
In the most basic, generalized way, I guess it is some kind of boyfriend, spouse, significant other, whatever. But when I start thinking about it, that’s not at all what it boils down to. If I wanted a boyfriend, I could rearrange my priorities so that finding one was higher up there. So that kindling a new relationship was more important to me. I’d stop giving out fake names and phone numbers. I’d maybe adjust some criteria or standards so that a real person could actually fit and meet them all.
Does it make me clueless or nuts to have no desire to do any of those things? Does it make me not ready for a ‘real’ relationship? Am I just selfish or is this something that makes sense?
What I just can’t figure out is why some people seem to have it all figured out – the dating thing, the relationships thing. Maybe they’re just really good at faking it or maybe they really do – but how? Why don’t I?
Mama Bird and I agree that our best friend B appears to have it all figured out. Now, I know she doesn’t, but when it comes to dating – whether she knows it or not – she has it down. She may not know what she’s doing right, but whatever she does, it’s right. B’s had one serious relationship in the two years since college, a couple short-lived-slash-on-and-off fling-type-things, a few guys others might say she dated (but she’d never refer to them as exes), and the guy she’s “dating exclusively” now.
So I guess what I’m saying – or asking – is: What separates me from B? I’m not talking attractiveness level, intelligence, or anything like that. I am confident in who I am and in the fact that B and I are different people; I know Mama Bird is, too. I’m fairly certain that every girl like me, on some level, wonders about this, though – just what is the difference between the people who have it all figured out and…me?