PAPER PERFECT.

                

         After two years I’ve recently found myself single.  It is the first time I have been single since graduating college.  I knew I was going to date this guy from the moment I met him.  I just knew it in my gut.  No, I am not crazy and wasn’t doodling his last name in my diary fantasizing about our life together but I just knew he was a guy I could and would date.  Ironically enough, I’m one of the most indecisive people you’ll meet but when it comes to guys I know immediately what I want.  He was handsome, intelligent, graduated from a great university, driven, into food and wine and basically the antithesis of the frat boys I had been surrounded by the past four years.  He was great on paper.  In the sea of mutts, he was the pure bread I wanted and yearned to be.  We went on a date the following Monday which only solidified the connection.  We split a bottle of Chianti and closed the restaurant discussing our childhoods, our families, our likes and dislikes, food, our dreams and goals; it seemed we were destined to meet in some rom com style pairing.  He seemed to be the male version of myself and it just worked. 

After that first date things moved pretty quickly: we became exclusive, took a trip to San Francisco for a wine tasting, met each other’s coworkers and friends all in the span of a month.  We were in that honeymoon phase where everything he did was adorable (including things that became beyond obnoxious), we couldn’t keep our hands off of each other and we wanted to spend every moment with each other.  We were a movie montage without the pop soundtrack.  I was head over heels for the guy who was great on paper.  I was at a time in my life when everything was so uncertain: I had just graduated from college and wasn’t a stone’s throw from all of my friends, I hated my job and for the first time wasn’t sure what I was going to do with my life and felt generally out of control.  He was the only thing that seemed certain and stable in my life.  Even as the shine of the relationship wore off and I noticed more qualities that were great on paper but weren’t as great in my reality, I still liked having him around.  I started to tell girlfriends that I knew we wouldn’t be together forever but he was good for now.  Some were confused and unsure why I would be with someone who I know I didn’t have a future with.  I didn’t know that at twenty-something I was only supposed to be dating potential life partners.  As time wore on and our relationship became comfortable like a worn pair of converse, things about him that I once thought were great started to bother me more.  His advice to me on my career and life in general started to seem more condescending and patriarchal than caring and loving.  His thirty minute nighttime regimen which was much longer than mine seemed more high maintenance than well groomed.  His need for $800 dollar Hugo Boss suits and professional shaves seemed more 1% than 99%.  These annoyances built up inside me and at times I felt suffocated by our relationship.  But we didn’t fight.  We weren’t jealous. We had a good enough time when we were together.  Sometimes even great.  The sex was still great when we did have it.  Nothing was wrong with the relationship, but nothing was right.  We were indifferent which might be the worst.  The passion was gone.  And the guy that was good on paper was just that: good on paper but not in reality.    

Maybe it was my ego, but I thought I was the only one feeling unsatisfied in our relationship.  With a tentative move to New York on the horizon for me, I figured I’d ride it out, enjoy the stability and mediocrity and we could make a clean break when I left.  It was definitely a copout but it was easier than breaking up with him because it didn’t feel right after almost two years.  Well after my roommate and her boyfriend broke up after three years, our relationship issues could not be suppressed any longer.  As I heard him say “we need to talk” my face turned pale.  How could he “we need to talk” before I could do it to him?!  I thought he was ecstatic with our mediocre relationship.  As we began to talk, I realized he felt the same way I did.  I was his “good on paper” girl and we both desperately needed new writing supplies.

                So we ended things.  It was awkward, uncomfortable and the most adult breakup I’ve had thus far.  No ill words were said (though I thought some in the heat of the moment), pleasantries were exchanged and we wished each other the best.  I was back to having no stability in my life: I was excited, scared, nervous and worried.  But it was better than dating a piece of paper.

Tomorrow, Tomorrow... I'll write ya tomorrow.

One blog post down and I had already admitted defeat.  It’s not that I didn’t want to write or didn’t have a million ideas going through the hamster wheel I call my brain.  I had topics prepared, witty headlines dancing in my head and plenty of topics I wanted to discuss—but I didn’t.  Two months after my first blog post and I had bupkis (nothing for all you not familiar with Yiddish).  And my excuses for not writing we’re pathetic at best.  I had a mindless job where I was surrounded by people who liked to exert the least amount of effort possible while holding steady at a middle manager level.  I was easily able to get my work done by noon and have the rest of the day to blog my heart out.  I wasn’t very ‘active’ after work either.  In an attempt to save money, I cancelled my gym pass and have been immobile since.  I usually spent my evenings on my couch after cooking a quick meal watching hours and hours of television; I considered my tv schedule a second job of sorts.  So I really had NO excuse not to blog.  So why hadn’t I?  I have always said that writing is one of my passions and what a better way to express that in my very own blog.  I could say what I want, when I wanted and best of all it’s free therapy!  I think the reason I haven’t is because I’m scared of putting my words and feelings out there in a public forum.  Even though I am the only one reading this blog, it’s scary to put it out there in the universe.  And as a perfectionist I don’t want just any run of the mill blog, I want a great blog.  My fear of failing stopped me from doing what I love.  I really hope this insecurity stuff is a twenties thing because I don’t know how much longer I can handle it.  All I can do now is start fresh.  Start writing. Start blogging. Start Being.  Instead of worrying about failing or worrying about the direction my life is heading or worrying about worrying, I’m just going to start writing and follow through with it.  That’s all I can do for today.

This is NOT what I signed up for.

Maybe I was naïve.  Maybe I was overly hopeful.  Maybe I watched too many coming of age comedies and sitcoms.  Maybe I spent too many hours daydreaming in class when I should’ve been listening.  Maybe it was a combination of all these things.  Whatever it was, being twenty something is not what I thought or envisioned it would be.  Let me peel back the lid on my visions of grandeur that I had prior to graduating college when I was merely a carefree, sleep when I’m dead, go to class when it’s necessary, intern for free until I reach my credit card(s) limit, make out with anyone and everyone with a pulse and check my facebook incessantly like it was my livelihood kind of gal.  I had illusions of graduating from college with my in demand communications degree from a small Jesuit liberal arts school and having my pick of six figure salary jobs.  I thought I would have to fight employers off with a proverbial stick because everyone would want little ole’ me as an employee.  I dreamed of working 9-5 in a great office with quirky caricatured coworkers like you see on TV.  I thought my dream job would be the perfect accessory to my amazing social life filled with happy hours, expensive dinners and weekend getaways.  Basically, I thought my post college life would be an episode of The Hills but with an actual job and less Spencer Pratt.  Well then the recession hit and I decided to lower the bar…just a little.  Okay, so I might not get a six figure salary at an entry level job and I might have to do more happy hours than expensive dinners but post college life will still be fabulous and everything I hoped for and more.

Well, look at me now.  Spoiler alert: It’s not everything I hoped for and more.  It’s a lot more frugal than fabulous and a hell of a lot more complicated than I thought.  I’m living paycheck to paycheck at a job that was certainly not my “dream”, dating a guy I certainly didn’t think I’d be dating at this point, eating exclusively at happy hours and drive thru’s,  and living in an apartment with my two best friends.  No, it’s not a terrible life and yes, it’s certainly not what I envisioned but it is what it is—for now.  Everyone (the voices in my head) told me my twenties were going to be a magical time filled with interesting jobs, liaisons with handsome men, world travel and bountiful options but I guess they were wrong.  It’s much more complex than that and I’m just along for the ride. 

Welcome to…What.The.Twenties.