Where Are The Words Of Wisdom?

Confusion. Regret. Discontent.

In a nutshell this has been my twenties. I am not depressed, I am just 25. Sure, there are a sprinkle of days here and there when the sun shine is able to find me through the 40-story buildings and the breeze brings the scent of tulips instead of the pile of sizzling garbage that has taken up residence on my corner. But, most of the time, my day is gray skied and trash scented.

First, I want to tackle the confusion portion of my twenties. The only sure things in my life right now are that I am female, I am single, and I have no idea what I want to do with my future. The female part is easy—I've been dealing with that ever since I can remember. The single part is a little tougher to deal with. I have friends with giant rocks on their left hands, and I have other friends that have never been in a serious relationship, so it's a little all over the place to say the least. As far as my situation goes, let's just say I am far from someone putting a ring on it. But, in time, I keep telling myself that will shift, the world will smile down on me and some hunk with half a brain and a decent income will fall madly in love with me. Now, on to the question that fills my day and haunts my dreams... "What do you want to do, you know, career wise?" It's the worst question ever, because the answer is nowhere to be found. I wish everyone that has ever asked someone in their mid-tweties this question would jump off the Brooklyn Bridge. Ask a college student, sure, they are full of unrealistic hopes and dreams. I wrote for my college newspaper, which I figured would immediately lead to a writing job at Rolling Stone magazine. It did not. Ask a 30-something and they probably want to start a family soon. They can clearly envision a family with 2.4 children and the puppy that makes those Christmas cards just irresistible. But in your twenties, you realize your hopes and dreams suck and having a baby right now could possibly be life-ending. Dramatic, I know, I'm 25. Anyway, the answer is I don't know, so stop asking.

The regret I feel for my past is starting to wear off. It's one of the perks of the twenties. That frat party I didn't go to and that academic club I didn't join are now becoming distant memories, and bon voyage to them! However, every now and then when I'm sitting in my cramped office space or downing a Diet Coke along Park Avenue, something is triggered and my college days come flooding back to me. I wish I had stuck to that diet sophomore year. Maybe then I would have gotten that date. He would definitely be my fiance by now. I wish I had stayed friends with that hilarious girl in my reporting class. She now works for Time Out Magazine, which, by the way would be my dream job—if a gun was pointed to my head and I had to choose. I wish I had stayed that 5th year in my college town. The real world is frightening.

Discontent is the name of the game in your mid-twenties. Where do I want to be? Who do I want to be? When will I get that interview that changes my life? How am I supposed to pay all these bills? These questions are magnified in New York City. Living here is a constant battle, but living anywhere else would be ridiculous. I can be anyone I want to be here, but the reinvention process takes time I can't give and money I don't have. Chasing that interview is a catch-22. You need a job to survive, but applying to jobs is a full-time career in itself. As far as those bills go, keep them low and call home often. It's not exactly glamorous, but for the past three years I've been able to keep my head above water—right now it is currently lapping at my nose.

Some say the daunting third decade is a time for exploration, while others are still living in that back room in the house they were raised in. There is no right and wrong in your twenties. There are no words of wisdom to get you through this time. For as long as I can remember, my dad always told me that these years were terrifying, and I laughed it off. At the time I was 18 and had four blissful years of parent-paid schooling in a college town bubble to enjoy. Upon graduation, I convinced myself that I was armed with the greatest weapon of all, a bachelors degree... in journalism. People will be knocking down my door to have me work at their corporations, help brand their internet start-ups, and edit their publications, right? Wrong, so so wrong. His words of warning are starting to sink in. I don't need warning though, I need wisdom, and those words are no where to be found. As for now, I'll depend on a strong drink and my fellow floundering friends. Hopefully we can all flail our arms, shed our tears and pinch our pennies through the twenties together.