I've pulled myself from the wreckage of learning that the guy I liked slept with a girlfriend of mine in Thailand while they were traveling, and have nursed myself back to health with a little remedy I like to call wine/pasta/mom-and-sis-weekend/chocolate/friends/chat-roulette/hot-Lupa-waiter/weed. I'm feeling much better, thank you for asking. My initial shock (not at all "surprise") turned to angry indifference over the weekend, particularly after reading the vague apology letters that flooded my inbox.
Why anyone would think that it's a good idea to send a written apology to a pissed-off writer is beyond me. A phone call would've probably rendered me speechless, but an email apology is just begging for a response. So, with restraint, I critiqued. I criticized his apology's (self-serving) effectiveness, approached the actual issue from a creative angle (to make sure he was actually paying attention), and then threw in a snarky zinger for good measure (slash, for womankind).
As I predicted, writing a response didn't make me feel any better. Instead, my heart pounded out of my chest, my adrenaline surged, and I thought I was going to faint on the subway platform. His second response came almost immediately once I was outside. There were so many "so sorry's" that my blackberry looked like an SOS receiver for ships lost at sea. ...Lost is right.
There's two phenomenons happening to men in the United States between the ages of 25-36 (give or take however many years it takes to relate your own example). The first is not exclusive to men: The quarter life crisis. The second is most common amongst artsy, creative types, but I'll just call them: Manboys. Let's start with the quarter life crisis scenario, since I'm feeling a little guilty about using all caps to get my point across last night.
Quarter life Crisis (n.) [krahy-sis] [krahy-sissy] [krahy-baby] 1. You can't make any decisions because you don't know what you want. And you don't know what you want because you don't know who you are. And you don't know who you are because you're allowed to be anyone you want. Characterized by unrelenting indecision, isolation, confusion and anxiety about working, relationships and direction.
Logan sent me a great article about Crisis .25, which completely informed this post, so go read it. The author writes, "Imagine a day in the life of a couple you probably know. He's 27 years old, she's 26. They wake up beside each other in his downtown bachelor apartment and have sx 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 dating. ...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..." STOP. Thailand....really?? How many of you have actually been to Thailand? It's a dirty, catch-all cesspool for people between the ages of 18-36 who are trying to find themselves while masquerading as backpackers. What's with all the hype? Hasn't anyone seen Brokedown Palace??
"...He goes to the bar after work to meet up with some university friends, where they talk about their jobs and make ironic jokes about people. ...She clicks through Facebook photos of girls she knew in high school posing with their husbands and babies ...'When did this happen for them?' she wonders. ...They both eventually fall asleep ...wondering what it is that's wrong with them that they can't quite seem to understand."
If, at any point in your late twenties, you find yourself wondering 'When did this all happen,' or you suddenly feel a deep sense of regret about the unconscious way you've been living the last 5 years of your life, its safe to assume that you've entered Crisis .25. Sit down. IT WILL ALL BE OKAY (says the 26 year old).
Its true that to most of the guys that I've known, the quarter life crisis is triggered by "a kind of malaise that the end of 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 sx again, because you're going to get married. Your life is over." COME ON. This slew of misconceptions brings two things to mind: All women (especially not the career-driven urbanites of nyc) are not out for the same 1950's style, one-size-fits-all commitment level from day 1, and you can redefine "working" or "grown up" or "age appropriate" in whatever way you want. There are no rules that say wearing makeup or heels will make you a grown-up, just ask 4-yr old Libby Fraser. Those fears are phony. I also think women of my generation have more experience evolving, redefining, in this way. (As Alanna summed it up last night: Women are more evolved.)
...Where did the time go? It's already time to leave. Part II tomorrow...
xoxo Goodnight!
No comments:
Post a Comment