Category: Quarterlife Crisis

From Fourth Grade to Future: Learning to Love the Ladies

posted 2nd September 2010    Written by: Marian    CATEGORY: All Posts, Love/Relationships, Marian, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 3, Travel

When I was in fourth grade my group of friends cornered me in Mr. Aiken’s classroom closet to tell me that they didn’t want to be friends anymore. I can’t for the life of me remember why but somewhere in my pile of childhood journals is a transcript of the conversation.

I’m a deflector. Meaning if I get caught in a deep and meaningful conversation I’ll usually crack a joke to lighten the mood. I rarely cry. So when my elementary school friends ganged up on me I busted out my notebook and wrote down every word. It was “research” apparently. It also helped me forget that my only friends decided they didn’t like me.

It’s been a very long time since I’ve read over my childhood journals, but now that I’m writing this post I realize I probably should. Too bad it’s 3,000 miles away or else I’d give you a sneak peek into the mind of 9-year-old Marian.

Because I don’t have the journal I can’t tell you exactly what they said or what happened afterwards. I remember having friends in elementary school, but I don’t know how I made the transition from big group of girls (who later turned into the popular kids in high school) to one of three. I can tell you, however, that it was over ten years before I belonged to another group of girls.

My friendships after fourth grade fell into one of two categories:

The first was a threesome that would ebb and flow. Chelsea, Thana and I did everything together. We even formed a band and wrote some kick ass songs (if I do say so myself). Thana eventually moved to Croatia. She is still one of my closest friends.

Chelsea and I also bonded with Giulia, a gorgeous Italian who eventually left us for Paris. Giulia now lives in London and am crazy lucky to still have her in my life.

Chelsea and I were ditched for far-away places, but we stayed friends. Sometimes we spoke on the phone every day. Sometimes we wouldn’t speak for a year. To be perfectly honest though, in our little threesomes I always felt like the odd one out. I’ve decided that three is not a good number for friendships.

The second category revolved around guys. Maybe it was because I have three brothers, maybe it was because of my new found hatred for girl groups, but I always got along better with guys. They said what they meant, were easy to be around, and always had interesting things to do.

I obviously got over the whole fourth-grade-friends-ditching-me-thing – kids can be cruel sometimes – but I do think it’s affected the friends I’ve had over the years.

My jealous boyfriend and severe lack of confidence prevented being anywhere even remotely popular in high school. I’ve never been comfortable in groups so always had one or two very close friends who had their own groups but I never really had my own place at lunch. Let’s just say I was bit of a loner.

Then came college. Davidson has the most amazing roommate system and I was paired with a girl who within a week would become my soul mate. Because of psycho-jealous-boyfriend I was pretty much only friends with her, but it didn’t matter. We were attached at the hip and it was okay.

Then I broke up with psycho-jealous-boyfriend and moved to England. I didn’t know a soul when entering the study abroad program, but here were people who didn’t know about my completely anti-social past, didn’t know me as the girl who had no friends, didn’t have any preconceptions about who I was. That was the first time since fourth grade I ever let myself have a group of girlfriends.

And it was fucking wonderful. In my entire life I will never forget those girls. They were adventurous, fun, full of life and stories and open minds. I felt awesome around them.

That November I took a weekend trip to Paris to meet up with some Davidson friends. Girls I was close with at school, but never considered “my group”. Maybe it was because of the new friends I had made in London or the fact that I was free of Asshole Boyfriend, but I connected with them in a way we never had back at school. A weekend full of lingerie shopping, cooking, Rodin and girl chat in the one bed we all shared solidified the closest friends I’ve ever had.

The friendships I made and the friendships I strengthened while living in London changed my views towards groups of women. I learned to trust them. I learned to trust myself.

I thought the fourth-grade drama meant I was a difficult person to get along with. I worried that one event meant disaster for the rest of my friendships. Turns out fourth-grade girls just aren’t very nice and that one experience held no bearing on my future friendships.

In terms of how my friends have affected my Quarterlife Crisis, let’s just say I couldn’t have a better group of girls rallying for me.

So dear Desi, Kelsey and Alea: You are the reason I am capable of doing anything. You are the best cheerleaders, the most beautiful women, the most incredible friends. You remind me every day that I’m awesome. You remind me every day that you’re awesome. Because of this, I love you more than you will ever know.

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Happy Wives and Stay At Home Moms Still Get Lonely

posted 27th August 2010    Written by: Alisha    CATEGORY: Alisha, Family, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 3, What I've Learned

One day we took my husband to work and headed to the little petting zoo in the next town over. The sun was shining. It was warm–warm for March in Chicago: 53 degrees according to the car. My son was happily speaking his toddler-speak…something about planes, sky, and going to the “zoom.” I had all of this wonderful light, bright, happy, great stuff going on, and yet. . . . And yet I was so overwhelmed; drowning in sorrow, loneliness. I almost started crying.

That morning I just felt so alone. There was no one to share my happiness with that day. No one to share that school-girl giddiness. No one to call up and meet for coffee and a quick chat in the backyard. I missed my old home. I missed my friends. I missed the tall oaks–how they lined the streets and shaded you from the mid-day sun. And the broken-up city sidewalks with their names set in blue and white mosaic tiles at each intersection. I missed the strawberry smoothies and melt-in-your-mouth croissants from the coffee shop down the road. I missed the old craftsman windows and Tudor peaks, the sirens from the police station on 63rd, and the neighborhood market with its fresh flowers and juicy scallops.

I am used to being alone.  After all, I am an INFJ—emphasis on the “I”.  My family moved around a lot when I was young (it is difficult to cultivate deep friendships when you move every 1-3 years).  Before children, my Saturdays were spent walking down to the coffee shop, reading best-sellers, watching movies in bed, and running on the trails— alone.

There are few whom I call friends; I consider most to be acquaintances.  And over the past few years I’ve become quite stingy with my friendship, extending it only to those whom I deem worthy.  (Wow. I hope that doesn’t sound like I think my ish don’t stink.  I just am more careful about in whom I invest my time and energy.)  Yet, lately I find myself craving connection on a level that I never have before.

I was not prepared for this loneliness thing.  When I envisioned my life as a stay-at-home mom I saw myself carting the kids to and from playgroups and playdates, chatting it up on the park bench while the children slid down the slides.  There is some of that, but not nearly enough.  It turns out that as I have gotten older, become a wife and a parent, making friends has not been so easy.  Family schedules don’t always mesh.  Children do not always play nicely.  Parenting philosophies differ.

I thought that I could fill the void by connecting with my tribes online.  Don’t get me wrong—the places and spaces I found on the internet are full of inspiring individuals and communities.  They are uplifting, supportive, encouraging and all around awesome!  However, they are no replacement for real human, face-to-face interaction.  Virtual hugs do not compare to the warm embrace of a kind soul.  I prefer “LOL”s to be literal: deep hearty laughs exchanged over a glass of wine and a medium pepperoni pizza. We humans are not made to be alone.  I need to go find my people.

photo credit

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Life Is Not a Lottery, Winning and Happiness are a Choice

posted 15th August 2010    Written by: Lindsey    CATEGORY: All Posts, Life Lesson, Lindsey, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 3, What I've Learned

Ever since I grew into the moody little sparkplug of twelve or so, I’d always have the same wish when I blew out the candles on my birthday cake: “To be happy.”

Vague, right? But, I figured, if I were just happy, everything else in my life would magically fall into place. Woo hoo! Happiness fairy! Thank you for finally granting my wish! Now I am truly alive!

Yep. Not how life works, much to the chagrin of my naïve young self.

I wouldn’t say I lived an unhappy life, just unconscious. Unaware of who I was or what I wanted, and therefore, unable to even begin to understand my happiness. I didn’t have my priorities worked out, because that required introspection. To just exist, glide along, and fill the societal-defined mold of “success” as I had done, doesn’t really require any inner work.

The ability to Do-What-I-Want and Live-My-Best-Life didn’t exist in my mind, when obligations to grades or career responsibilities were more valued than taking time to explore the concept of passion and authentic happiness.

Happiness, for me, is a choice to be passionate rather than stoically blindly driven towards someone else’s vision of success.

Last year, I left on a post-college freedom fighting tour of the country, seeking to do only things that made me happy. It was amazing. I had time to breathe, and be introspective, and get the butterflies you can only get from fully immersing yourself within your passions and experiencing complete happiness.

But I hit a wall. Enter: Quarterlife Crisis.

Or, several months of optimistically flipping from “ah, I’m a snowboarder and a traveler and I’ll start a business and be free to do whatever I want!” and “life is awesome and full of happiness. I can just keep on livin’ on the fringe and do what I love.” to “holy shit I am a complete failure!” and “If one more jackass drinks 8 diet cokes with their Applebee’s Fiesta Lime Chicken dinner I will bring a samurai sword to work!”

(Oh, hi, by the way, I am kind of crazy. In an endearing way.)

I was successful in defining my happiness and dreams, but achieving them with a minimum wage job sucks. Turning towards a responsible life: well… but… I DID that already…and it definitely didn’t feel authentic. Yet something was still missing from my life.

There is a part of me that loves to dance like crazy, jump off cliffs, laugh far too loud than any situation will demand. That feeling I get snowboarding deep powder or lifting off in a trans-continental jet or (well, there is a lot, I will spare you). These things make me happy. They are my passions; they make me feel alive.

On the flip-side, I have deep sense of responsibility. Not the lame “oh, I must make money to put in my 401K” but a sense that I have something to contribute to the world (other than awesomely-bad dance moves). And just thinking about following through on this, makes me feel even more alive.

I know what makes me happy, and I now know how to have it. But my mission has evolved to more than be happy but rather to define, create, and live out loud, a completely authentic life.

I’m a person of extremes. Driven, passionate, and hopelessly dramatic. Since I don’t actually plan on living in Crazytown forever, finding balance is super important. Actually, I am working on my Joy Equation this month and have declared BALANCE one of my Core Values!

This Quarterlife Crisis revolves around finding balance in the far edge of extremes. In creating a life where it’s okay to live completely, authentically as yourself. Sometimes that means cliff jumping and hiding out on a secluded beach for weeks on end. But other times it’s about contribution, of the mind and heart, to something greater, evening if that something greater is simply being the best person you can be, and sharing that with your world.


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How it Unfolded

posted 14th August 2010    Written by: Renee    CATEGORY: Job/Career/Work, Quarterlife Crisis, Renee, Season 3

Looking back, it’s possible that quitting my job with the United States House of Representatives wasn’t the best decision I’ve ever made, but I’m starting to realize it was one of the first authentic decisions I’ve ever made.

I was the classic surface-level over-achiever. I knew what it took to look good on paper. I knew when to flash my pearly whites when meeting the right people. I knew how to think out loud to those who could make something happen for me. And all of that landed me a job managing the schedule of a freshman Democrat in Congress who represented a Republican agriculture district in a state that produced a controversial black President in an election that produced a volatile social and political climate. Yeah, I was on the front lines of political assault.

Day in and day out, I’d answer the phone to angry constituents, outraged over the first inklings of universal healthcare. There were injured veterans who couldn’t afford the gas to get them to the VA hospital. There were lobbyists demanding five minutes of my boss’s time. There were weekend events at fundraisers, schools, and legion halls. There were conference calls during evening hair appointments. There were orders coming from too many chiefs. And did I mention I was commuting 90 miles round trip?

Six months into it, I knew not even the student loan payback was making my “dream job” worthwhile. I was not happy. I started looking into getting my teaching certificate, was offered a job at a coffeehouse closer to home, gave my two week’s notice, and barely looked back.

That was July of 2009 and is nowhere near the end of my story.

I started working at the coffeeshop 5:30am-2:00pm five days a week. It was wonderful at first. I was even promoted to manager in September. But it went downhill quickly. I was told my teaching certificate would take six years part time. The hours and social environment of the coffeeshop became toxic.

I broke down.

In January 2010, I demoted myself and cut back my hours to focus on freelance writing. I was crushed when writing didn’t pay my bills immediately so I started waiting tables at a cute little Italian restaurant… and again, I found myself working seven days a week. Stressed. Unhappy. Worn thin. After nearly a month straight without a day off, I knew I had to make a decision before yet another meltdown.

I finally said goodbye to the coffeeshop. I now work weekends at the restaurant while I wait to start my graduate studies next week (!!!). I have rediscovered a love for cooking and a surprising devotion to bikram yoga. I ride my bike to the farmers markets and catch up on feminist literature in the sunshine. I play video games with my husband late into the evening. I plan real and fake vacations. I enthusiastically look forward to football season. I listen to way too many podcasts. I ignore my messy kitchen. I am learning to sew, to bake, and to love myself authentically. It seems I’ve found all I need but I know my journey is only beginning. But, for the first time, I’m excited to continue down this path because it finally feels just right.



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Old Demons and New Beginnings

posted 13th August 2010    Written by: Alisha    CATEGORY: Alisha, Job/Career/Work, Life Lesson, Love/Relationships, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 3

After my hasty and drama-filled departure from school, I returned to my parents’ home.  I was back in the Midwest, but this time in a different city and state.  I had no friends, no connection and this did not help the depression or the bulimia.  Soon they were shipping me to what I now affectionately refer to as The 7th Floor.  Thirty days of 7 a.m. weigh-ins, affirmations, group sessions and knitting.  That summer spent on The 7th Floor was not easy, but it was what I needed.

While there I was diagnosed with Bi-Polar II Disorder.  Ah!  Finally, an answer!  Now I understood at least one of the issues my mind and body were facing.  It was there where I met a handful of other young women whose stories compelled me to really make a change for the better.  I graduated on a Saturday; we stood in a circle, said the Serenity Prayer, and I left The 7th Floor for good. I left my demons on the 7th floor.

I kept regular appointments with my psychiatrist and nutritionist (ultimately taking myself off medication of my accord), enrolled in classes at the local community college and worked two part-time jobs.  At the community college I fell back in love with learning, taking only classes that really interested me: African-American History, Sociology, Human Sexuality, and Economics.  I successfully avoided my personal demons.  At work, I fell in love with a boy.  Well, a man, since he was 9 years my senior.  I was amazed at how long he stuck around considering my absurd curfew.  (When you’re under mom and dad’s roof, you’re under mom and dad’s rules.)  It was my first real relationship and I was head over heels.  But it turns out that my job did indeed monitor phone calls and I was fired–something about a conflict of interests because he was a customer.  Then about a month after that he broke up with me.  Looking back on it now, I’m glad that I was at home with my parents when all of this happened.  With their support and encouragement I was able to move on without letting my demons get the best of me.

I always thought a career in law seemed fitting, so that summer I obtained an internship at my local congressional office.  Every morning I wrote form letters, updated databases, deposited recycling, licked envelopes, made new friends.  I absolutely loved it.  So when it was suggested to me that I take a paid campaign position I jumped on it.  I was told that it would be a big deal; if I ever wanted a career in politics, this was the way to go.  Silly, naïve, 20-year-old me took the job.

I was making peanuts—literally, that was all I could afford to eat.  (Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating a bit.  I ate a lot of ramen and Hamburger Helper too.  Oh, and there was free coffee every Monday at the McDonald’s across the street.)  Our office was a large room in a decrepit building downtown.  The homeless walked the streets; the sound of police sirens was incessant.  I worked 60-80 hours a week and in the beginning I really thought I was making a difference.

However, about two months into the gig I felt myself starting to crack.  I was exhausted.  My hair started falling out in clumps.  Then, one evening, I sat on the dingy, broken tile floor, my head against the cold metal stall just inches away from the toilet.  At that moment I knew something had to change.  So I quit.  Political suicide.  “You’ll probably never be able to get another job in politics,” I was told.  It stung but I realized it would be okay. If working in politics meant slowly killing myself, then this was not the job for me.

Darn you, Quarterlife Crisis! Back to school.  Again.  This time I chose a place in the city, a nice 30 minute drive from my parents’ home in the suburbs.  And did I mention it was only 3 minutes from all the bars?  It was the perfect little school in the perfect little city where I could spread my wings as a fully legal adult.  Every Wednesday night I was at the local hangout dancing into the wee hours of the morning.  I felt so free, so happy. In that loud, dirty, sweaty basement I felt myself come alive.  Little did I know, that basement had other plans in store for me.

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