The Quicksand of Life

I know it's Tuesday and we're in our twenties. The bombardment of conference calls, endless meetings, and menial tasks that cause our eyeballs to be glued to a computer screen for hours at a time is relentless, but I think it's time we stepped out for some fresh air. If you would join me on this adventure of imagery, I promise to get to my point across sooner rather than later.

Now put on some sunblock (skin cancer is not a laughing matter even in the world of imagination) and join me on a hike. It does not have to be strenuous or sweat-inducing (it is Tuesday after all), but it does have to be in the wilderness miles away from the nearest horn blast and tire screech of society. Ready? And we're off. You're away from your desk admiring the soft sunlight and the calming blue skies above. The grass is green and the leaves on the trees are just beginning to glow with that warm hint of fall saturation. Nature is really something, isn't it? A sense of serenity seems to fall over you. You were built for this environment, and believe somewhere deep down inside that if given the time off and correct gear, you could conquer the Appalachian Trail. But all it takes is a split second and a step for that feeling to shift. Suddenly the grass wasn't that green and the leaves were more of a brown hue than an amber shine. It's not a famished black bear or a rattle snake slithering around with a trap full of venom that stop you in your tracks, it's the fabled inanimate force known as quicksand. You have just stepped into a pile of the wet, sticky substance and are unable to free yourself from the strong sinking sensation. Now for the sake of my story, this is not true-to-life quicksand, but the type of quicksand that has been depicted in Western cinema. The unrelenting type that sucks you down into its bottomless pit and swallows you whole. The harder you fight the stronger its pull, and in this case its got you and it's not letting go.

Not the ending you were hoping for? Is it ever? In the most dramatic way possible, I have simply explained what it feels like to be stuck in a rut. And, if you beg to differ, then you, my friend, have been fortunate enough to steer clear of those nasty little things that take hold and show no signs of leaving. One minute your life seems to be cruising along. You are even finding the time to stop every now and again to enjoy the scenery. But, with the strike of the second hand, and for no apparent reason at all, in the next minute your life is the most unfair piece of mumbo-jumbo in existence.

There is nothing quite like being stuck in a rut. It is unpreventable and comes on like a sneak attack. But you can instantaneously feel it. It's like a bee sting, if a bee sting was to linger for weeks, or in some cases months. And lucky for us 20-somethings there are about a bajillion varieties of ruts that can take hold. Now, I'm not a mathematician, however, I strongly believe that in cases denoting a feeling of overwhelming importance the number bajillion is acceptable. And here are some of my frequent visitors, the job rut, the location rut, the season rut, the hobby rut, the love rut, and the all inclusive, one-size-fits-all life rut. Obviously the life rut is a combination of all the other ruts, and this one is a doozy. Actually, for lack of a more eloquent way to express myself: it sucks. The rut is the quicksand of life. It comes on unexpectedly and grabs you with a grip that is unshakable. The more you fight it and try to get away from it the harder its grasp, and the only thing to do is to calm down and let it take its unfair, unfun course.

A rut, by definition, is a fixed or established mode of procedure or course of life, usually dull or unpromising. Fixed, dull, unpromising... yikes. Those are some extremely scary words for someone of any age, but in your twenties sometimes the burden seems harder to bear. And here is why. I, for example, still have the fantasy that anything is possible. I can move to another city, change my profession, procure an amazing group of uniquely talented and interesting friends, and in a nutshell start my life anew. I can rid my rut by becoming revitalized and motivated again. However, someone slightly older that is responsible for a family may not feel that these things are possible, and in this way the fantasy is both a burden and a benediction. The thrill of the fantasy is fantastic, but acting upon it, for most, seems like a daunting task to avoid. Sometimes endless options are overwhelming, and while thinking of all the ways to improve upon ourselves, the rut ends up winning. Packing all of my things, finding a new place to live, applying to endless jobs and graduate programs in order to change my career path. I don't know, maybe this rut thing isn't so bad after all?

Then again, my job is monotonous, there is no vacation time in sight and I haven't been asked out on a date since snow fell more than two winters ago. So what do we do when we are stuck in a never-ending rut? How do we shake it? While I hate to be the bearer of bad news (even though I'm just so good at it) I truly believe that these are just the times in life that one must struggle through. Perhaps a great night out with friends will reinvigorate your spirit in the short-term, but low and behold Monday will roll around once again the desk chair will beckon. I think when the rut takes hold, being positive is almost impossible and, just like quicksand, the more your friends and family drag and pull and strain to try to rescue you, the farther you sink. 

This is not to say that there is no hope, of course. The funny thing about the rut is that it seems to escape your life just as quickly and quietly as it took over. The trick might not be to escape your current situation, but, to, dare I say, make the best of it. I know, so unlike me. 

My past experiences with the merciless rut have taught me that one day you will wake up, and, for no reason at all, the metaphorical fog will start to clear and the skies will become blue again. Things will start to look up, for it's always darkest before the dawn. 

And, currently, in my life, I'm hoping it's about 6:00 am. 

Seize The Day, Stop The Countdown

We hear it all the time. It comes at us in the form of sing-songy quotes and cliched sentiments, most of which we became familiar with at an astonishingly young age. And even though this idea is pushed and pressed and permanently emblazoned into our subconscious, most 20-somethings, well, act like 20-somethings, and ignore the sage advice bestowed upon us.

C'mon, say them with me: "life's too short," "time sure does fly," "its seems like only yesterday," and my personal, yet morbid favorite, "those were the best years of my life," which, of course, implies that the speaker no longer has anything left to live for, and thus his or her remaining days are just a slow and torturous waiting game until the final resting place. I told you it was morbid, and, well, I'm not really into sugar coating. These small suggestions and statements that hint at life's short timeline fly from baby-boomers' mouths to Generation Ys' ears every single day, and yet most of us block it out; a skill set perfected in today's world of the classic know-it-all. We fully grasp the notion that life is short, we understand that we won't live forever, but, frankly, today and right now we feel invincible against this idea of mortality.

So here is the good news, well the not-so-bad news... our elders are telling us these things before it is too late. Those friends and family that pass out this reluctantly listened to advice are not trying to make us face our impermanence, they are urging us to live for today. I have been warned, in fact, it feels as if sometimes I am being threatened into carpe diem, so why do we blatantly snub this Latin oldie-but-goody? In fact, if Latin was not dead itself, it would probably roll its eyes at us, shake us and tell us to carpe diem the hell out of life. 
 
But, for some reason, living in the "now" just feels impossible. Everyone seems to have a constant countdown ticking away in their mind. With each stroke of the second hand they are brought closer to their amazing Caribbean vacation or their impending nuptials that will take place on the beach, at sunset. However, what about all those days in between? Why must we forget about life's little pleasures and throw ourselves full-throttle into what will happen days, weeks or even months ahead? I hate to sound like one of those aging told-you-soers, but it just feels to me that as we age time takes on a warp speed, and if we are constantly pining for the future we are going to miss, well at the risk of sounding hyperbolic, life.

I'm not saying that we can not get excited for what the future holds. Actually, it would be downright frightening if a collective group of friends was not thrilled about their their best friend's wedding or if a mom- and dad-to-be were not over-the-moon excited about their eventual arrival. Of course, I am not insinuating that these things should not be looked forward to with immense anticipation, I'm merely suggesting that the time in between not be used as a waiting room to get you to the bigger and better. I'm hinting at the fact that no one should wish for September in May simply because fall television will be in full-swing, and we will finally delve further into the terror plot of Homeland. I'm proposing that the perpetual countdown stops, because believe me, the oh-so-looked-forward-to event will come and go, and those months you wished would fly by are not coming back.

The reality is that day-to-day existence is not always going to be fireworks and hysterical laughter among friends. In fact, most days seem to mesh together in one long strand of wake up-go to work-come home-go to sleep. Finding the exhilaration and inspiration can sometimes be difficult, but we have to try. If not, we will one day wake up and look at a reflection in the mirror that we can not believe is our own.

So, can I do it? Can I take my own advice and force the countdown to a halt? While I sit here in my window-less cubicle it seems like a serious impossibility. Thoughts of my impending Florida vacation keep creeping to the forefront and a slight part of me wants to fast forward to November. But I know I should not be forcing a fast forward until a rewind option is discovered. So, here goes nothing...

3...2...1... carpe diem.       

Bright Lights, Big Headache

We are "Generation Y." Those of us in our twenties and even late teens fall into this category because we are too young to remember the Challenger Disaster, but old enough to recall the horrific events of September 11th. Video games, smart phones and electronic books have invaded our space and taken up permanent residence in our lives, and, to be honest, besides the rising obesity and diminishing eyesight that this has brought to our millions-strong group, I am proud to be a part of the "Millennial Generation."

However, and you know there is always, until the literal end of time, going to be a however with me, the instant gratification that we have been conditioned to expect is backfiring, I believe, in a big way. The pings and dings of our collective devices have not only created a constant, and extremely unwelcome symphony of reminders and messages, but these simple audio bytes have turned us all into the human version of Pavlov's dog. As soon as that buzz is felt or that familiar tone rings out, as sad as it is, our Gen Y hearts skip a beat and we are at our phone/iPad/computer screen in nanoseconds. The bright lights of technology have us conditioned, and we are drooling with delight. 

But sometimes it's just too much. The constant connectedness is overwhelming and occasionally intrusive. Why, oh why do I need to be notified every time someone clicks on the "like" button of the brand new photo I posted of Central Park? In what dimension do I need to be alerted that Nicole Polizzi, who most warmly refer to as our modern-day heroine Snooki, had a nightmare about leopard booties taking flight? The answer is actually quite simple. You see, social media overload has made hypocrites out of all of us. We say we don't want to be assaulted by this information, but if I did indeed post that photo and it was ignored by my entire facebook community, I would be slightly devastated. I would wonder to myself what was wrong with the composition of the image? Was I trying too hard, not hard enough? But, once a few people have confirmed that my photo is in fact "like-worthy," I am able to relax because I know I have confirmation of a job well done. The "like" button and the comments section is like a virtual pat on the back that we all crave. Good job, stranger, you done good. The Snooki alerts are my own fault as well. I chose to follow her on twitter fully knowing what kind of misspelled junk I would be forced to take in when checking my twitter feed. And the sickest thing is that somehow over the past few months I have allowed myself to follow every single Jersey Shore cast member, and even one of their mothers. Of course, their tweets are surrounded by CNN Breaking News posts and North Korea Updates, thus making me well rounded and eclectic, right? ...right?

So the problem at hand is really a self-induced one. We feel bombarded by technology and social media outlets, however we can not stay away. It is as if they breathe life into our otherwise hum-drum day. How can I live out this Monday without viewing 237 images of your recent trip to Sugar Mountain, North Carolina? The actual answer is, I can't, although I might pause around photo 174 for a quick check of Tumblr, Gchat and LinkedIn. These days, we can't miss a thing. Receiving information fifteen minutes after the intended arrival could be catastrophic. I still can't believe I didn't retweet Ellen fast enough to win that super-secret coveted prize that she only made privy to her intimate group of 11 million followers. It will haunt me to the death; I could be the proud owner of something special. 

It's a double-eged sword, a catch-22 and we are all addicts. But do me a favor and be addicted during your own time. The following times are not considered your own, so kindly detaching yourself would be much appreciated... When I am sitting across from you at brunch, lunch, dinner. If I wanted to eat alone, I would have done so. If someone else is so important why are you not guiltily splitting the bread basket with them? When in a movie. You took it upon yourself to look up a time that was compatible with your day, then you drove/subwayed/bussed to the theater. After arriving you shelled out upwards of $14.50 depending on the city in which your movie-viewing is taking place, and you mean to tell me you are going to buzz, ping, ding, smirk, and click your way through the entire plot? Gen Y classic. And seriously, and I am VERY serious about this one (please see previous post titled 30,000 terrifying feet up to know just how serious I am), turn off your phone when the stewardess tells you to do so. I am not exactly sure why Gen Y truly believes somewhere deep down that they are aviation safety experts. When you can make a situation teeter more towards life than death, why would you blatantly ignore this advice? Please stow your arrogance as well as your technology in the overhead bins provided. The Kardashians will still be posting annoying updates of their workout schedules and achievements when you land safely at your destination. 

The necessary evil of being connected has taken over our generation. We are almost lost without our devices. Checking our social media daily, hourly, constantly has become a habit, and I'm sure for most of you the feeling of anxiety creeps in when this, for some reason, can not happen. I fear for those younger since it seems they have been born and raised on a steady feeding of screens and buttons. 

I know that human interaction will never completely cease to exist, but it sure does seem like it's on a continual decline. Losing oneself in computer-generated interaction needs to be kept in check. Enjoy the now. The bright screens and tempting deluge of pop culture knowledge will be there to greet you when you are done living in the outside word, I promise. 

Now please excuse me while I blast this blog out to everyone I have ever met using every platform of social media that is in existence today. Gen Y til I die.