Food For Thought

I came across this article, courtesy of a friend of mine...I think it discusses a topic that plagues many of us twenty-somethings on a regular basis and brings up excellent points that too many people are too afraid to admit. I certainly have some commentary on it, but first, I'd like to hear what you have to say (it's long but worth the read, I promise)...

************************

Welcome to Your Quarterlife Crisis
BY Kate Carraway April 01, 2009 21:04

Imagine a day in the life of a couple you probably know. He’s 27 years old, and she’s 26. They wake up beside each other in his downtown bachelor apartment and have sex that neither of them particularly enjoys. They’ve been sort-of dating for a while now, but they’re not willing to commit to each other: he likes her, but doesn’t know if he always will. She can’t decide if she likes him more or less than the other two guys she’s sleeping with.

He bikes to work at an advertising agency, where he uses his master’s in English to proofread ad copy, and spends several hours reading music blogs and watching movie trailers, periodically Twittering updates about his workday to his 74 followers. He doesn’t really hate his job, but feels as if his skin is crawling with vermin most of the time that he’s there, so he has a plan to move to Thailand, or to maybe write a book. Or go to law school.

At her government job, she instant messages her friends and mostly ignores the report she’s drafting because she’s planning on quitting anyway — and has been planning to quit for about a year now. She spends her lunch hour buying boots that cost slightly more than her rent, then immediately regrets it.

He listlessly works through lunch, then goes to the bar after work to meet up with some university friends, where they talk about their jobs and make ironic jokes about other people. Back at home, he wonders why he feels so gross and empty after spending time with them, but it’s mostly better than being alone.

She walks to the house that she shares with three friends and spends a few more hours on celebrity gossip websites, then clicking through the Facebook photos of girls she knew in high school posing with their husbands and babies, simultaneously judging them and feeling a deep pit of jealousy, and a strange kind of loss. “When did this happen for them?” she wonders.

They both eventually fall asleep, late and alone, each of them wondering what it is that’s wrong with them that they can’t quite seem to understand.

This phenomenon, known as the “Quarterlife Crisis,” is as ubiquitous as it is intangible. Unrelenting indecision, isolation, confusion and anxiety about working, relationships and direction is reported by people in their mid-twenties to early thirties who are usually urban, middle class and well-educated; those who should be able to capitalize on their youth, unparalleled freedom and free-for-all individuation. They can’t make any decisions, because they don’t know what they want, and they don’t know what they want because they don’t know who they are, and they don’t know who they are because they’re allowed to be anyone they want.

When a contemporary 25-year-old’s parents were 25, they weren’t concerned with keeping their options open: they were purposefully buying houses, making babies and making partner. Now, who we are and what we do is up to us, unbound to existing communities, families and class structures that offer leisure and self-determination to just a few. Boomer and post-boom parents with more money and autonomy than their predecessors has resulted in benignly self-indulgent children who were sold on their own uniqueness, place in the world and right to fulfillment in a way no previous generation has felt entitled to, and an increasingly entrepreneurial, self-driven creation myth based on personal branding, social networking and untethered lifestyle spending is now responsible for our identities.


IDENTIFIED FOR THE first time in 2001, the Quarterlife Crisis has been written about most notably by Alexandra Robbins and Abby Wilner in the New York Times best seller Quarterlife Crisis: The Unique Challenges of Life in Your Twenties. The themes of twentysomething ennui are everywhere in pop culture (Garden State; Lost in Translation) but it’s also been explicitly addressed: on Gossip Girl, Blair Waldorf explains some bad behaviour with “I was such an overachiever, I was headed for a Quarterlife Crisis at 18”; in the John Mayer song “Why Georgia” (“I rent a room and I fill the spaces with wood in places to make it feel like home but all I feel’s alone / It might be a Quarterlife Crisis or just the stirring in my soul”); Quarterlife was a successful web series about seven twentysomethings with creative tendencies. There’s also a terrible metal band from Long Island called Quarterlife Crisis who look like an apathetic version of Insane Clown Posse.

Says Michael Kimmel, a sociologist and author of Guyland: The Perilous World Where Boys Become Men, “The Quarterlife Crisis is a kind of anticipatory crisis: ‘How is my life going to turn out? I don’t have a clue; I don’t have a map; I don’t have a vision for it.’ The mid-life crisis is a kind of ‘Is this it? I had a big plan, I had big ideas. Now I’m 48 and I guess I won’t get to do those things.’ The mid-life crisis is understood as one of resignation. A Quarterlife Crisis will resolve itself by hooking itself into a plan.” What that plan could be, though, might be vague, or feel altogether impossible to create.

Attempts to manage the Quarterlife Crisis might be as banal as drinking a lot, doing a bunch of drugs, sleeping with idiots and myriad other kinds of self-flagellation, but broader attempts are made to find some sense of purpose. An obvious choice for panicking twentysomethings with a post-undergraduate sense of displacement and for the ones that aren’t fulfilled by their jobs is grad school. James, a 28-year-old student, says “Quarterlife crises are the reason that so many universities have turned lower-level graduate programs into a cash cow.” Graduate and professional school can provide a direction and delay other choices about career and stability. And, while it’s true that higher education can “help students improve their personal and professional competency,” it can also “leave students feeling insecure about their abilities and their job prospects,” says Marc Scheer, who is a career counsellor and educational consultant, the author of No Sucker Left Behind: Avoiding the Great College Rip-Off and an advocate for considering options beyond formal education. (He also has a Ph.D.) Scheer emphasizes making an informed choice. “Whether graduate school is a wise move depends on each individual student and what they want to study. Law school can be helpful, but mostly if a student can gain acceptance to a top-tier school. Getting a Ph.D. could be dangerous for some students, especially since Ph.D. graduation rates are obscenely low these days, and few tenure-track jobs are available. So it really depends.”

Among the implicit promises made to this generation of twentysomethings was that they would have work that was engaging and creatively fulfilling. A 27-year-old freelance graphic designer with a graduate degree who is struggling to find work, Prescott says “You could always say the whole premise of education is that if you study, get good grades, acquire skills, you will have more options in a ‘career and life’ point of view. If you get a degree, you don’t have to work in a factory or have to work in a farm. That’s proving to be a huge lie, because you have people coming out of school and there are just no jobs, especially in ‘middle-class’ fields.” The dissonance between a twentysomething’s pre-career expectations and the dissatisfaction they feel as part of the working world can be hugely defeating. As Kimmel says, “They don’t have much of a life plan about how to move from Point A to Point B. What happens very often is they have very big ambitions, [but] there is a mismatch between their planning for their lives and their ambitions.” He also says that the conflict is made more difficult because 25-year-olds are living “in an economic environment which is the most inhospitable in our history.” David J. Rosen, the author of What’s that Job and How the Hell Do I Get It, a career guide based on interviews with young professionals with “cool” jobs across a variety of professions, says “Generally, being happy at work is huge part of having a happy life, and a cool and interesting job is one that leaves you fulfilled, not bitter, or not with that existential career angst that you were meant for ‘more than this.’”


SPENDING MONEY IS as fraught as making it. Multiple degrees, trips to Peru, and keeping up appearances on Saturday night all communicate values and desires, and having no consistent sense of “want” can reinforce the problem, often with trail of debt. Anya Kamenetz, who is a 29-year-old staff writer at Fast Company magazine and the author of the book Generation Debt: Why Now is a Terrible Time to be Young, says “As recently as the early 1990s, Americans had less than $10,000 of student loans on average. Now the average is over $20,000. As of about 2006, young people had $4,000 of credit-card debt on average, and those with debt were spending a quarter of their income on debt payments.” Kamenetz says “Debt and lower income can affect your choice of jobs. It can take longer to move out of your parents’ house or stop accepting those cheques and become fully independent. And many young people find themselves asking the question: ‘Why haven’t I made more progress?’ It makes people feel like failures when really there are larger trends at work.” This is also, in part, what has led to the “Boomerang” trend, where adult children move back in with their parents after leaving for school or work.

Scheer identifies another, more insidious problem with grad school, and with delaying career choices generally: “Graduate school presents some ‘opportunity costs’ in that students can’t work while they go to school. So, for example, someone who goes to medical school and doesn’t finish residency until their late 20s or early 30s won’t financially catch up to their friends until they are in their late 30s or early 40s or later. These are all important factors to consider and not be unrealistically optimistic about.”

The Quarterlife Crisis remains largely a middle-class, Stuff White People Like kind of problem, and usually manifests itself where certain problematic social norms used to exist, like who had access to education and interesting work, and who was allowed adventure and self-determination. The twentysomething void is, in large part, due to the important evolution of sexual equality, and when sex, relationships, and family-building changes, everything does.

Kimmel says, of men in particular, “Part of the Quarterlife Crisis is a kind of malaise that the end of your youth is really the end of fun. And that you’re never going to have any fun again, because you have to work. You’re never going to have sex again because you’re going to get married. Your life is over.” So why bother? Literal and figurative fucking around is infinitely more appealing to men who are still sorting out what they want their lives to look like.“

Grown-ups understand that the choices we make also involve choices we don’t make,” Kimmel says. “We have some regrets and we carry [those] with us. Guys don’t get a lot of help in this from each other or from our culture. Culturally we have got to show guys that the other side of this is actually terrific.” He points out that, statistically, married men are happier and have more sex, and that fathers experience lower levels of depression. Still, Kimmel points out that very young marriage has the highest rate of divorce, and that men would do well to spend their unmarried years focused on their own growth, rather than Halo 3.

WOMEN ALSO FIND themselves conflicted, usually more than men, about the trajectory of their twenties as they relate to relationships. Sarah, who is 27 and works at a non-profit, wants to travel and get a master’s degree, but feels conflicted about doing either. “I want to have kids, and every day that goes by, I have this number in my head. It’s 32. It used to be 30. That’s only a few years from now. I’m thinking, if I don’t do some of this stuff now, before I have kids, am I going to be able to do it?” Women are roundly considered to be in biologically ideal form for baby-making in their twenties and early thirties, which are also prime fun-having and career-building years. For women who want all of the things promised by (theoretically) equal education, work and sex lives, the conflict of desires can be catastrophic. Leah, who is a 26-year-old with a demanding corporate job, says “I feel tied down because of my job, but at the same time feel that while I am single and young I should travel because I don’t have any obligations to other people, and it’s only going to get harder as I get older.” Sarah says, “Am I going to have regrets? Once you have kids, your opportunities are over. That’s probably not true. But everyone seems to change. All of the women who I work with who have kids, they change. Their priorities shift.” Sarah’s boyfriend doesn’t feel the same pressure. “He doesn’t have that kind of timeframe. He says ‘I don’t even think about that.’ Of course you don’t think about it.... [Men] really don’t think about it.”

In 1973, the average age for women to get married was 23, and for men, 25. By 2003, the average age for both rose about five years, a significant change that reflects both marriage-free cohabitation and purposefully delaying serious commitment. It also means that twentysomethings are increasingly going it alone in their financial lives, where they would historically be building assets and houses and portfolios alongside their partner. Women, especially, are buying homes on their own. It also means that loneliness and isolation are far more likely, particularly when being separated from the close friendships that make up university life happens without a family or back-up community in place.



THE EMOTIONAL TUMULT reported during, or remembered after, a Quarterlife Crisis has a scarily ineffable quality. This isolation and its private anxiety are pervasive, as is a longing for the way things were in the predictably structured eras of high school and college or university. The directionlessness and resulting immobility is made worse when twentysomethings going through the Crisis compare themselves to their peers, past and present, further convincing someone in the throes of it that they’re not only alone, but the worst kind of failure. Says Leah, “A lot of [my friends] are settling down and getting ready to take the next steps towards marriage and families and it makes me question why I am not doing the same, and I realize that the amount of effort they put into finding a partner and getting married I put into my career. So how could I possibly have time for both?”

Twentysomethings are also inundated with constant but mostly empty communication, as the increasingly primary social sphere exists online instead of real life. Nothing could be more alienating to someone in the midst of a crisis than a tool like Facebook. Says James, “All sorts of half-forgotten acquaintances and abandoned friendships reappear in this spreadsheet of potential reasons to feel terrible about yourself. If you’re as petty as I am, you spend a lot of Facebook time gauging your own feelings of inadequacy in direct relation to other people’s success. All these people you couldn’t give a shit about a couple of years ago are now these omnipresent benchmarks and counterpoints to measure against whatever you have or haven’t got going on in your life.”

Adair, who is 30, found herself mired in a Quarterlife Crisis and sought professional help. She says, “I worked with a life coach, and he helped me a lot to realize that I was creating a vicious cycle in my life.... It was a cycle with four different phases, and I’ve followed it basically throughout my life. The steps were: I would get really excited about something, something new something different, something stellar, big. I went off to school totally excited and ready for an awesome experience. Stage two would be like ‘Oh, this is it? This is kind of boring now.’ After one-and-a-half exciting and non-stop years, I realized that I wasn’t excited about being there anymore. Stage three would be ‘What am I doing, why am I choosing to do this?’ In that third stage I would inevitably have some type of breakdown, [which] usually consisted of crying and talking through the feelings of emptiness and boredom with a friend or family member. Then I would have kind of breakthrough in that experience and get myself back up. At that point, I went abroad to Seville, Spain.... Now every time I’m faced with a change or new situation or find myself bored, I ask myself if this is a part of the cycle, or is this genuinely how I’m feeling.”

Having so much — youth, ability, independence — can feel like the worst possible scenario. What remains, though, is the potential for the years with anxiety and without direction to be reclaimed. Scheer sees real opportunity here. “If you feel you’re in crisis, this is a great opportunity to draft a five-year plan with steady concrete goals to help you get to where you want to be. Anyone can transform their life in just a few years.” Michael Kimmel says “There is life on the other side of this, and it’s actually a pretty good one. Growing up may be hard to do, but in the end, the gains outweigh the losses.” In other words: it might just be time to grow the fuck up.

Swirling Thoughts

It's been a few days, and I've found that I have a ton of thoughts swirling around my brain...certainly not bad thoughts...just a lot of them. But, I've realized that the beauty of this cyber journal is, above all things, its ability to make room in my overactive, often ADD riddled brain. So here they are...

It was a beautiful weekend (despite, of course, the embarrassment that was the Yankees v. Red Sox series).

After the 4:00pm mass exodus that took place at my office on Friday afternoon, I spent the weekend with the ManBoy in the city. We watched the game with his roommates and went out for a great night on the UES.

Saturday was gorgeous, and the best part was the ManBoy didn't have to work. We spent the day in the park (sneezing) eating hot dogs and strawberry frozen fruits (ummm SO good!), reading and generally catching up. We talked for hours about our pasts, our future, our families, and our faith. It was one of those rare afternoons where you really feel like you checked in with yourself and the one that you love.

That night we had date night (my fav!). We went to the Blue Water Grill for dinner and spent some quality time together before he had to leave (at 4:45am) on a business trip for Los Angeles.

His job requires that he fly out there for a few days (or weeks) at a time and it's incredibly difficult to adjust to the feeling of not having him here. But, the time we spend apart makes it that much clearer how much we mean to each other. I miss him every minute he's away, yet I'm thankful that we get to use that time to appreciate how great a life we have together and how lucky we are to be with each other as often as we are.

Sunday I went back to Jersey for the day. I went to church in the morning with my bestest and offered my opinion on the new wardrobe she's purchased to meet, for the first time, a boy she's been talking to for the last few weeks (it's complicated...read her blog, you'll understand...and even if you don't you'll at least be up to speed on her keep-you-on-the-edge-of-your-seat thriller of a love life).

I also got to witness my first cousin's confirmation and celebrate this auspicious occasion in his life of faith. It was incredible to see a boy, I've known only as a child, begin to take on the characteristics of an adult, and dare I say, a man.

My family is a large one. We are loud, opinionated, and close, both emotionally and geographically, which always makes for a good time when we all get together. I love them.

After the confirmation, we all went out to eat together. It was a great time, though it was strange not having the ManBoy there. My cousin, at one point during the meal, leaned over to my sister and I and said, "I've been reading your dad's book on how to give great toasts and I think I'm going to give one before we start eating". {Explanation: My father is known for his touching, often rambling, funny, but always heartfelt toasts.}

Before we began to eat, my cousin tapped on his water glass and, with very little difficulty, commanded the attention of the table (not an easy task with my family). He then began to give a beautiful toast to my grandfather, who had sponsored him at the confirmation and who has been sick over the last few weeks. It was incredible to see how moved my grandfather was and how mature and confident my cousin seemed. A palpable shift had taken place. If the kids in the family were becoming adults, what did that make me?

I guess it's just strange for me to finally have a seat at the adults table when, for so long, I've been with the kids. I suppose it's about time though. I've never really thought of myself as anything but an adult, and with my brother having recently gotten married and living down in Kentucky, I guess I'm next in line to move up.

It's not to say I'm not ready - I am, I guess I've just been elbowing my way in for so long, it feels odd to have someone just pull me up a chair...

Curtain Call?

So I left out an important detail about me in my first post...

My first love is dancing.

I started at the age of 2 and spent more time dancing than sleeping until I graduated from college, 20 years later. I'm more comfortable on a stage than anywhere else in the world; and, when I'm being honest with myself, refusing to pursue a career in performing is my biggest regret. I miss it everyday.

There are things that you can express through movement, that words could never hope to. Dancing teaches you about yourself in a way that few other activities can. It makes you confident and poised, it nurtures the creative, and, if you're lucky (and good), it inspires and moves audiences.

Perhaps my love of dance, and the regret of not following my dream, are what make it so hard to answer questions about my career aspirations....But that is a question of self-discovery for another day...

Today, I want to speak about the beautiful girl in those photographs. Her name is Brittany and she is my guardian angel. God took Brittany from us far sooner than anyone thought, only weeks before her 16th birthday. It felt like a light had gone out on Earth and was now shining in Heaven.

Brittany was an awe-inspiring dancer. It was a pleasure to watch her on stage, and an honor to share it with her. She was a fierce friend, and her goodness resonated from every fiber of her being. She lived, though short, a life full of passion, hard work, and great people who loved her and whom she loved in return.

It will be five years, this August, since that light went out and our lives changed forever. In her honor, the studio where I trained since childhood, has decided to put together an alumni piece to be performed at their annual show on May 10th. I've been asked to participate in the piece, and I'm feeling incredibly apprehensive about it. In addition to the number of things I have scheduled that weekend that conflict with the rehearsals, I have not danced in a year (it just broke my heart to write that) and I'm certainly not in "dancer shape" anymore. It will take a lot to walk back into that studio, where I spent a childhood that now feels so far away, without a feeling of self-consciousness. But I suspect the feeling of unshakable guilt and disappointment, that will come with refusing to dance, is something far more unbearable...

I am at an impasse...do I face the fear of realizing I am no longer a dancer, and take a curtain call to honor my angel, Brittany? Or, do I bow out, gracefully, take my seat as an audience member, and prepare myself to be inspired and moved....?

Analyze This

Ladies, after centuries of trying to combat our reluctant roles as apologetic, wilting flowers, we have made great strides to ensure the equality and empowerment of our fellow females. And yet, we remain our biggest obstacle.

Why is it that after each failed attempt at flirting, each awkward first date, and hours of analyzing the punctuation (or lack thereof) in a text message, we consistently arrive at the same self-deprecating question: What is wrong with me?

I am not the first woman to explore this issue, and I will certainly not be the last, but nevertheless, it's a topic that, I believe, must be addressed until we get it right.

Let me tell you a quick story. I had dinner (and way too much wine) with a very good girlfriend of mine last night, Sammy. {Sammy is a nickname, it's short for Salmon - the pet name given to her by the ManBoy. While she has graciously offered herself up as fair game for my blog, she has asked to be referred to under a pseudonym.}

Sammy is recently single. She's adorable - smart, pretty, fun-loving, always in a good mood, and endlessly kind. Not to mention, she has an enviable wardrobe, a sick body, and a kickass job. In short, Sammy's a catch, no question. {And seriously, I'm not just saying that because she's my friend and is probably reading this}. If she has a fault, it's one she shares with many women out there, she tends to forget how great she is.

Now, I don't want to harp on her too much, and, I understand that in the wake of a breakup, everyone does a gut check and asks, "Was it me?", but over the course of our conversation last night, I found myself wondering, What is that? Why do we do that?

Last weekend Sammy decided to join two of her girlfriends for a night out. While her friends admitted to being on the prowl for young, eligible, Manhattan bachelors, Sammy agreed to join them strictly as a wingman. But, amidst her playing the spectator and sipping her Johnnie Walker Black on the rocks (I know, I'll never be as cool as she is), she caught the eye of a cute, 20-something single.

They hit-it-off. He was outgoing, funny and gentlemanly. They had great chemistry, a compatible sense of humor, and the same favorite superhero. They had a great time and exchanged numbers.

After she decided to text him first (go girl!), they agreed to meet for dinner on Monday night.

She was eager to spend another great night with this seemingly confident, straight-shooting, good-time guy. And yet, upon arriving at dinner, it seemed as though he'd done a complete 180 overnight. No longer the playful, quick-witted stranger she'd met Saturday night, this boy was shy and quiet and reluctant to bear the brunt of the conversation - causing her to ramble on endlessly to avoid the dreaded awkward silence that was bound to ensue had she not continued to come up with topics to discuss and questions to ask.

By the end of the night her head was spinning (and her mouth was dry from all the talking). She couldn't help but consider a series of nagging questions. Am I less cute today than I was Saturday? Did he find me dull? Stupid? Is he just not as into me as he'd let on? Then why did he suggest dinner? and on and on and on... Not once, however, did the thought cross her mind, that perhaps he does like her and was nervous, maybe she's intimidating because she presents herself with such confidence, maybe he has some self-esteem issues that are best confronted with excess humor...you get the point.

The next day, expecting not to hear from him, Sammy received a text message. He continued to make electronic small talk throughout the day, but has not yet asked to see her again. Like most of us, she's just not sure what to make of this. You know us girls and our love of interpreting texts (Newsflash: I've recently learned that guys do it too...but that's another post for another day).

So a great night out + an awkward first date + indecipherable texts = What? We're not sure yet, and perhaps it adds up to nothing (and that's OK). But, the more important question remains:

Why are we so quick to judge ourselves when things don't go as planned?

Stop apologizing for being cute, successful, smart, funny, and able to hold down your Scotch. Stop analyzing the subtext of a text (that may or may not even be there). Start realizing how great you are, and that the boy who didn't call or text or buy you a drink, is really just doing you the favor of letting you know he's not worth it, right up front (rather than forcing you to figure it out for yourself down the line).

So Sammy, no, you're not going to spend an eternity in the land of Single Gals. You're a catch, and you just need to remember that there's a guy out there who will be able to live up to the challenge....you just might not find him out at Phebe's on a Saturday night.

April Showers...

...bring lots of fun things to do in May (and flowers, so I've heard). So, I was sitting here, on this dreary, rainy day (you know the kind; the want to blow off work, stay in pajamas, eat breakfast at 2pm, cuddle and watch movies all day kind of day) trying, desperately, to fight off the begrudging feeling of purposelessness that inevitably comes with the realization that you're only half-way through the work week and at the end of your patience, and it dawned on me - May is just around the corner.

Now, you might say, "May? What is so great about May? It's warmer, yes, but it's not quite summer; May is the 20th birthday of months, you've reached your 20s, but you can't drink!" I'll admit, I have only just recently begun this love affair with May, but I beseech you, hear me out (unless, of course you're in college and are studying for finals, I feel for you, unless, of course, you are a senior and are anxiously awaiting graduation, I congratulate you).

My calendar for May is rapidly filling up, and each event is more exciting than the last.

The first weekend in May, my dear friend, Amanda, has a new boy coming to visit (check out her blog to hear all the juicy details and follow her never-a-dull-moment quest for love). They haven't technically met yet, but, as her closest (and judgiest) friend, I have been elected to perform the first round of, shall we say, "grilling". (Bust out the barbecue girls, this boy's gonna roast...I know all you foodies out there are thinking, "that makes absolutely no sense, she must not cook", but I wanted to keep the metaphor going, so cut me some slack...and I do cook! So ha!). We're going on a double date to a LES (for you non-Manhattanites, that's Lower East Side) favorite, The Stanton Social. I'll keep you posted.

Then, on Monday, May 4th, I will be with the ManBoy at the new Yankee Stadium, watching the Yankees (hopefully by then they've gotten their act together) beat (*fingers crossed*) the (evil) Red Sox. {Insert Explanation Here: the ManBoy, having grown up on the North Shore of Boston, is a fierce Red Sox fan (a characteristic, I swore, long ago, was a deal breaker when it came to relationships...so much for that) and I, a native to the Tri-State Area (don't argue with me, there's only one), am a die hard Yankee fan. You do the math...}

Moving right along....

That Wednesday I have a cocktail reception/networking event to attend at a gallery. And on Friday, a rooftop cocktail party for the Fordham President's Club (I'm ManBoy's smart, witty, socially adept, very fashionable date...if I do say so myself).

The following day, Saturday, I am embarking on one of the most important shopping trips of my life...No, there's not a Christian Louboutin sample sale, I am searching for my new apartment! (Which, I recently decided, will be shared with one of my oldest childhood friends, Carly...a great move, both socially and financially...yay! Stay tuned for House Warming Party details!)

Of course, Sunday the 10th is Mother's Day - gotta love Mother's Day. I have a great mom and frankly, the woman deserves a day when no one is asking her to fix anything, plan anything, cook anything, and everyone is just soaking up her awesomeness (well, she deserves more than one but they only made one a holiday).

Then....(cue music: dun dun dun!)

The following weekend is ManBoy's Birthday Weekend! (His actual birthday is the 18th, he's turning 24, and you should all wish him a happy birthday...from a safe, hands-off distance, of course). Unfortunately, I cannot share details, because, you know, he's a dedicated boyfriend and will absolutely read this.

Finally, we come to Memorial Day Weekend - one of the best holidays of the year because it marks the official start of summer. We will be spending the long weekend in Washington, DC to celebrate the graduation of ManBoy's sister, Marisa, from Law School. (The woman is incredible, this will be her 3rd degree from a top university before the age of 30. Badass. The end.)

So find things to look forward to in May. I promise, time really does fly when you're having fun. And, before you know it, it will be summer. You'll be on the beach and you won't even remember how you got there (which probably has less to do with May and more to do with the extra tequila shots you had at the bar the night before, but I won't tell anyone).

Just Because a Name Should Have a Face...

It's been 6 months, we've already made a million memories...and I'd like to share a few with you.

One of our first nights out in New York

Thanksgiving Weekend in Massachusetts - a.k.a. Meeting the Parents

His hometown is so beautiful!

Christmas in New York!

Happy New Year!


Our trip to Mexico! (and that orange dress was my birthday gift from him! )

Easter Sunday in New Jersey

We take each day as it comes and cherish every moment. We're making memories of us...

Serendipity: A Fortunate Accident or "I'll just have a glass of the Pinot Grigio"

They always say, "it's going to happen when you least expect it - and you'll just know when it's right". The "it" to which they are referring is, of course, finding the love of your life. Well, I am a recently reformed naysayer of just such a glass (of wine) half full philosophy.

I promised, in my first post, to share with you the juicy details of abruptly finding myself in a state of singledom, shortly after moving to the state of Connecticut, and the series of fortunate accidents which followed.

It was mid-July, only a few short weeks after my brother's wedding and the start of my new job (my first since graduating college). I was finding my way around Greenwich, the office, and my new apartment and was caught up in the whirlwind of changes that were taking place in my life, including my then boyfriend moving to Washington, DC for work. Amidst the madness, came a glimmer of excitement. The entire firm, consisting then of only about 20 people, was invited to a night out in Manhattan! It was an opportunity for all of us to get to know each other in a social setting, complete with a rooftop bar and lots of fabulous cocktails - I was so excited!

Before I continue, I should make you aware that for some reason, this former boyfriend of mine had a knack for, let's say, "raining on my parade" when I was excited about something. And, on that sunny July afternoon, it poured.

We were all leaving the office early to head into the city. Towards the end of the day, I received a text message from him insisting that we speak after work. (Apparently, he had allowed the company outing, about which I'd been speaking for days, to slip his mind). Upon reminding him that I was A) busy that evening, and B) unsure of what time I'd be returning home, he said that either way I should call him when I got back because, "we needed to talk" (Cue scary music: dun-dun-dun! Or should I say "done done done!")

Understanding perfectly well what that meant, (As any girl would) I immediately fired back a text, as I was leaving my cubicle to head for the door, that read "Are you breaking up with me?" By the time I reached my car I had my answer. Short and (not-so) sweet. A text message made up of one word...Yes.

{Fast forward to September}

I'd spent the remainder of the summer figuring out how to navigate my new life. I spent time at the beach, with friends, my family, and an occasional boy (nothing serious though). I put a great deal of effort into embracing life as a single girl and committed to remaining as such for at least a year. We didn't speak at all, and save for an IM here or an email there, in an effort on his part to contact me, I'd largely put him out of my thoughts.

For one reason or another, however, I thought it was a good idea to wish him a happy birthday when the day rolled around in mid-September. He was going to be in town for the weekend and we decided to meet up for dinner. I was nervous, but at the end of the day I realized I had no interest in picking things up with him again (even though he did and said so, adamantly). Still, he was able to convince me to fly down to Washington, DC two weeks later.

Now, before you jump down my throat for going, one of my best friends from college lives in DC with her boyfriend, AND our other best friend from college was traveling down there that weekend as well... Escape plan? Check!

So Friday, September 26th arrived. I left work early and headed to LaGuardia Airport - the Marine Terminal, from which the Delta Shuttle departs. While waiting for my flight at the terminal bar, I found myself overhearing a particularly hilarious conversation between a man and a young woman who seemed to be from entirely different planets. She worked at Sotheby's, was decked out in a pencil skirt and heels, and when she said auction house, the flannel shirt wearing man to whom she was speaking thought she meant a pig auction. (Because they do that so frequently in Manhattan, right? I kid you not people, you cannot make this stuff up).

He left, and I immediately jolted to occupy the now vacant seat next to her at the counter. When the bartender asked for my order I said, "I'll just have a glass of the Pinot Grigio". Little did I know, on the other side of the Sotheby's girl, quietly sipping a Tanqueray and tonic, was the blue-eyed boy who would soon become the love of my life.

The three of us struck up a conversation, which continued onto the plane, where we elected to all sit together. The blue-eyed boy, whose name I learned was Tim (and who now is referred to as my ManBoy), had graduated in May from Fordham University. We soon realized we had a few friends in common and a few political beliefs in conflict.

Upon landing in DC, it dawned on me that the ex-boyfriend would be meeting me at the terminal . I knew if I didn't act now, I'd miss my chance. As we rounded the corner approaching the entrance to the main terminal, I saw him waiting for me, at the end of the hallway. I immediately began rummaging through my purse, a sight which I'm certain was pretty humorous, what with my fumbling all over the place to try and find my cell phone amidst the rubble that was my overstuffed tote.

I managed to grab my blackberry and awkwardly insist that the three of us exchange numbers and meet up in the city sometime, just as we reached my ex. He gave me an uncomfortable hug and an even stranger kiss on the forehead. Tim, not knowing what to make of the situation (since throughout the plane conversation I had insisted I was down here visiting "friends"), thought it best to diffuse it by shaking his hand. (An image I will cherish for the rest of my life). After a few more minutes of lingering discomfort, we parted ways and embarked on what for me, was to be a miserable, and eye-opening weekend.

On my final day in DC, my mind made up that there was no way in hell I'd even consider getting back together with my ex, I decided to take the plunge and text the blue-eyed boy.

We made plans to meet up once we were both back in the city and spent the next 10 days texting, g-chatting and talking on the phone.

Since then, we've been inseparable. Despite my initial reservations about entering a new relationship only months after getting out of one, the experience has shown me that fate is about the right thing showing up at the exact moment it's meant to. Everything happens for a reason, and sometimes you just know...

Tim, my blue-eyed ManBoy, you will soon see, will come to play a central role in my blogging experience as he has come to play a central role in my life.

He's the answered prayer I didn't even realize I'd sent up and the most fortunate accident I've had in my life...

Biting the Bullet

I finally bit the bullet.

After months of staunch refusal, I have arrived at what all along has seemed inevitable. I have started a blog.

In a society where words are typed rather than handwritten, throngs of troubled individuals flock to overpriced therapists to "talk things out", and networks like Twitter and Facebook have become forums of instant gratification for those who believe the rest of the cyber world truly cares how they are feeling on a minute-by-minute basis, I suppose blogs are a perfectly logical progression from the once locked diaries of old. And yet, I admit to having trouble reconciling this rationale.


{Pause for reflection}

My apologies, perhaps I've revealed my cynical side too soon. This is, after all, our first introduction. Hello.

Truth be told, an entire site dedicated to my thoughts and feelings, a haven in which I am free to write as much (or as little...though that seems unlikely) as I'd like, without fear of retribution, for those of you who know me, seems right up my alley. Yes, some would say I'm a talker - a regular old Chatty Cathy, if you will. I've been called verbose by some, and loud by...well, pretty much everyone. It seems I have a lot to say about a lot of things (and sometimes I even have a lot to say about nothing). I'd like to think that most of the time I know what I'm talking about, but, on the rare occasion that I don't, I'll never let on...

So here we are; you don't know me, I don't know you, but from what I know of this "blogoshpere" we've all helped create, we will learn a lot about each other on here, so perhaps an explanation is in order.

I am 23 years old, I've been out of college for about a year now, and I think I'm starting to get the hang of this whole "welcome to the Real World" thing.

{I mean that in a strictly non-John Mayer, non-8 unemployed, self-indulgent twenty-something alcoholics living in a mansion together kind of way...although that could be cool too}

Having gone to school in Manhattan, I had grown quite accustomed to life as a New Yorker until I landed a job as the Investor Relations/Marketing Associate at a start-up hedge fund in Connecticut. Thus, upon graduating (I mean that literally, I went apartment shopping on Graduation Day in the hours between the ceremony and our celebratory dinner) I moved out to Greenwich, CT, days before starting work. Within moments of my arrival, I instantly regretted my decision to set up shop in a place that was eerily reminiscent of Pleasantville.

Most of my college friends had wisely elected to stay in New York City (hereafter referred to as the "City" as it is the Greatest City in the World), I had no familiarity geographically or socially with the area, and I was recently single (an event and the serendipitous aftermath of which will receive it's own much-deserved post at a later date). Nevertheless, it was safe to say, I was stuck between a rock and hard place (or in this case, a Bentley and a Ferrari...neither of which I could claim as my own).

But, in the spirit of new beginnings, I decided to make the best of the situation (not for lack of trying to find a willing craigslister in need of an unfurnished 1 bedroom sublet until May). Over the last year, while learning the tricks of the trade at my new job, remembering to pay my bills on time, and putting an obscene number of miles on my car, Escape (pronounced ES-CAHP-AY), driving in and out of the city to maintain my social life (and my wardrobe), I can say, with confidence, that I've come a long way.

I am still the fun-loving, hot-headed, excessively opinionated, shopaholic, drama queen I've always been, but with an adapted sense of responsibility and a larger bank account (one of the perks of life as an "adult" - I use that term loosely).

I'll be returning to my beloved Manhattan upon my lease term ending on May 31st and will begin looking at Upper East Side apartments shortly. Perhaps one day, when that bank account has grown to a much larger (and by larger, I mean, astronomical) size and I entertain the idea of having little people running around in pastel seersucker and cable knit, I will return to Connecticut, but until that time, spending 10 hours a day there at my office will suffice.

So welcome to my world. I'm looking forward to the adventure of sharing random thoughts, exciting news, and feelings of all kinds with the many new friends I hope to make (fingers crossed...I'd hate to be the kid eating lunch alone in the cafeteria of the blog world)....And of course, I promise to keep you fully updated on my Love of Shoes and Baby Blues (hint: the eyes of a certain someone) in the days to come...

Oh, and a whole-hearted thank you to my dear friend, Amanda, for opening me up to the world of blogging...please accept my apology for my initial skepticism.