Category: Quarterlife Crisis

“Meet My Committee” – How’s this for Reality TV!

posted 12th May 2012    Written by: Cassie    CATEGORY: All Posts, Cassie, Creativity, Quarterlife Crisis

You’re going to love this.  No, really, tell your assistant to cancel the rest of your meetings for today because as soon as you hear my proposal for the next big Reality TV show, you are going to want to run out and make it TODAY.

It all takes place in my head.  Now I know what you’re thinking- “How are we going to shoot that?”  No worries.  Here’s a glimpse of what it looks like.  It’s great at first, then it gets old, but it catches wind again.  Tomorrow, you’ll be doing something totally unrelated then think about it and kind of chuckle.  It’s great!

The idea came to me from undergoing Fierce Love training with Molly. (Side note regarding royalties: we should probably include her in the million ounces of confidence and self acceptance that this idea is going to bring in.)

Ever feel like you are not supposed to be doing what you were meant to do?  Do you get reminded every minute of every day by a voice in your head? Really, it’s okay to admit that you hear voices.  I hear multiple daily!  (Just don’t tell my Doctor that, or they really will throw me in that Hospital they tried to make me think was a Chuck E Cheese!)  These voices are helpful.  No, really, they are!  Well, they can be.  Once you understand them.  They are The Inner Critic and the Committee!  Coming to your network, Fall 2012.  Oh wait… they’re already here.  *Nice and attention grabbing, right? I know!

Regarding casting, please reference my concept drawings beside each character description.

 

The Protector

She has a pulsating vein on her neck.  She never smiles and she makes sure I have a bad ass grimace slightly bordering Zoolander Magnum look on my face when walking alone on public streets and sidewalks. She tells me that I should throw in the towel when we’re in the ring together. “Go back home to your mommy, sweet cheeks!” She wisps her fingers through her boy-ish hair that she probably didn’t wash today.  Her philosophy in going back home is for me to incubate for a year, then come back to Cali and try again later.

“No way!” I side swipe her with a windmill kick kinda like this. “I can do this!

She’ll pretend not to cry for awhile but sit and wait for me to question myself again only to pop up with the memorandum again.

She tells me I shouldn’t walk alone at night in dark streets.  I listen, especially when she manifests into an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.  If there is no other way but for me to go down one of these streets, I hurry and keep very aware.  I rarely get into these positions, thank goodness.  There are some shifty streets in Orange County!

Since identifying her, we have come to an understanding.  She knows she can be unreasonable and needs to live a little- to learn to live with a grand portion of uncertainty.  She wants me to stay in and work on the foundation for a better tomorrow- but she wants me to do that every day.  She wants me to lose sleep over it until the point I burn out and just want to get married, have kids, and live through them so I can sit at home and re-watch Disney movies thinking about the career I might have had if only I had listened to her and kept working my butt off.  Sink or swim.  Those are the options.

She’s quite keen on using psychology against me.

 

The Critic

She’s very adamant about how under-developed I am.  She doesn’t let me forget it.  She does it sweetly in a smug sort of 3rd grade teacher sort of way.  Up until I do something or take on a project, she reminds me of how hard it is going to be and how I’m not ready for such an endeavor.  Once I finish, she praises me for what a trooper I am and how I took that learning curve and surfed its quickly morphing waves.  Then, of course, she’ll remind me not to get a big head and not relax on my achievements that I have to move on as if the wolves are a day behind our wagon and we’re almost to the gold mining West.

She’s very strong but she’s also very loving once I’ve proven that she doesn’t intimidate me.  Of course there’s a lot of self-doubt involved before that happens, but I eventually, and tentatively, win her over.

In terms of body image, she’ll often be on my side.  She’ll remind me how amazing I am, how beautiful and wonderful I am.  Though, she can dish a slap in the face when I’ve dropped the ball or failed to take care of myself, do laundry, wash my hair, etc.  She only wants what’s best for me and my health.

She is definitely more strict on my productiveness and skill developing rather than body image.  She’s kicking my ass making me go to the gym lately though and my body is very thankful, even happy, for it.

 

The Image Consultant

Sometimes, it seems like she never shows up for work.  I don’t wear make-up.  I don’t feel the need to try to look good (because obviously, it comes natural).  There’s no one I want to impress with my body or with my clothing.  I have a closet full of unbranded, colored shirts that I love to throw on over a pair of jeans.  I have unbranded, colored sundresses that I also love to wear.  The colors make me happy to look at, and to have bounce off of objects and reflections I stand around.  My hair also looks really good against almost any color.  White is a wild card as so is certain yellows.

She determines that the way I feel about what I am wearing is more important than what I look like.  She knows that it’s important to not look like a slob and try, but she wants me to be comfortable.  She knows I have a weird habit of punching air when I’m excited, or kicking things just to see if I can raise my leg that high.  She knows that I need to be comfortable to physically manifest excess energy.  She knows that I love impromptu walks around the neighborhood and through Disneyland.  She made me purchase a decent pair of work shoes that wouldn’t kill my feet if one of these strolls came to fruition once I clocked out.  (For reals… my feetsies hurted so bad in my old shoes!)

So she definitely shows up for work, but she is relaxed and takes things in stride.  She wants me to take care of my insides because it reflects on the outside.  She loves the way my skin glows after I work out and how soft my hair looks once it’s washed.  She could care less about what I wear as long as it’s not stained… which we’re currently tag teaming going through my clothes to get rid of those items.

 

The Skeptic

She is in between… but when she’s harsh, she’s harsh and when she’s kind, she’s really kind.  She almost kept me from going to San Francisco, but she said “What’s the worst that could happen?” once I took the spontaneous jump. (I won’t tell you what she said before the decision was made… it quite hurt my feelings…)

She is concerned about people’s intentions because she cares about me.  She doesn’t want me to be so open or so friendly so quickly when meeting new people, though she knows that she can give me a stomach ache super quick if I go overboard.  She’s also very good at making me feel awkward when I’ve stepped over a boundary.  It involves long lectures in the courtroom in my head.  She has a graspy voice like Roz from Monster’s Inc.  I hate her lectures, but I love her cat glasses.

She’s even more thrown for a loop when people show me the same super quick friendliness that I normally show first.  When this happens, she makes me retreat quickly and question everything. Why is this person talking to you?  What does he/she want?  Hide your credit cards and lock your chastity belt because obviously they want to kill you.  Whoa, baby!  Calm down!  She gets serious.  Quickly.  I’m learning how to calm her but still find myself retreating from social situations like above.

 

Final Thoughts

I have realized that my committee is rather close to being one entity.  Each one that I explored started to bleed into the next.  A few would border on being repetitions of each other but in the end it all boils out of the need to protect me out of love.  They love me and want what’s best for me.  It’s like I have my Mom and Dad in my head, only they yell and throw Snooki fits.  My parents have always been supportive of everything I have done.  I have no expectations to fulfill because I’ve already surpassed what they had hoped for me.  They know I’ll get to where I want to be.  My committee knows this, too, but they also know they need to slap a few reality checks on me every once in awhile, too.   Unscripted and unapologetic, I’m glad they’re around.

 

 

 




Have you heard? The Stratejoy Book Club has officially launched!

We’ll be holding our first LIVE chat discussion.  May 21st, 2012. Grab your girlfriends, some drinks, some snacks, and jam with Molly about this month’s book, MWF Seeking BFF by Rachel Bertsche.

Find out about the book, the live chat discussion, and how to host an event or attend an event right over here on the page with all of the juicy details.

divider

Carry my Heart and I’ll Carry Yours

posted 11th May 2012    Written by: Camila    CATEGORY: All Posts, Camila, Family, Life Lesson, Love/Relationships, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 6, What I've Learned

Such a tiny heartbeat.

Today I’m babysitting a kitten. Not just a kitten, but a baby-infant-little-pipsqueak-of-a-kitten. Apparently some person found her, dropped her off at the local liquor store, and my friend took her home and is now bottle feeding her every two hours.

It’s strange having to care for something so completely vulnerable and unable to take care of itself. It makes me feel incredibly responsible and attentive since I had to slumber in a half awake state for about ten minutes so my cat wouldn’t find it and squash it… or eat it… or play mommy to it (though this option is highly unlikely). I mean, this kitten is pocket-sized. She just topples around, her little limbs just learning how to lift up and move in coordination. This little gal will grow though and eventually she’ll be like my cat, immediately walking over to the litter box to pee instead of urinating on my lap, walking around wherever it desires without needing frequent cuddling, I guess we’re all that way though. I know I’ve been in circumstances where I would be pretty close to “useless” if I didn’t have someone watching my back or wouldn’t be able to get anything done if I didn’t have an extra hand reaching out to grab on to all the falling pieces.

That’s pretty much what my week’s been like. For 14 days straight I had to work at the coffee shop. I’ve forgotten about burnout on a job. I mean, about 5 of those days were prepping and running a giant catering order for Yale’s pre-frosh days. By the end of it I was completely exhausted and I know I would have been even more distressed and pissed off if I didn’t have coworkers to clean up some of the coffee cambros and milk containers once I brought them back after hours of brewing coffee, running the order to its location, and returning everything to the the store.

This week I also got a call from my aunt offering to help out with the wedding. I still need to figure out what I’d like for her to help with, but the fact that she offered, especially since I’ve been a tad overwhelmed with wedding-planning makes my heart radiate with smiles. I think I sometimes forget that people enjoy helping out and that people are often way more compassionate and considerate than I give them credit for. (I blame this on living on the East Coast). Living out west, I feel like I was always gladly offering assistance to my siblings and friends and they were always helping me. It felt more communal.

During my senior year in high school I took several advanced courses and wore myself out with the hours of homework I had to do every night. I spent a lot of nights crying so I could get into a good school. A good chunk of the time my mom had to tell me to slack off. I usually didn’t, but sometimes I took a personal day or two off from school. There was one particular time I remember being so stressed out with all I had to do (this is obviously a common scenario in my life) and I was sitting on the couch and I purposefully feel backwards shrieking “This isn’t life, this is death at an early age” as I pulled a blanket over my head and wept.

For all my dramatics, my mother declares it my Anne of Green Gables moment. I can be a drama queen, not usually, but if you know me really well you’ll see it. I wouldn’t have gotten by if I didn’t have my mom telling me it would be fine and I didn’t need to be so hard on myself. I would have been even more of a wreck if one of my friends, even with her own ridiculously busy schedule, didn’t offer her help at every turn, help that I gratefully accepted.

Sometimes I have trouble accepting help. I admit it. I’ll also admit the following: I take anti-depressants. I’ve had trouble with depression since I was about nine years old and when I was fourteen I was officially diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Anxiety, and Depression. For about a year I was dead to the world. Nothing seemed real, I cried every day, I thought frequently of dying, and I was absolutely lost.

Even thinking about it now makes me a little anxious and a little bummed since such a hefty portion of my adolescence was spent in my own personal hell. I’m glad I went through it though. I’m glad I had time to sort through a good chuck of  life’s quandaries. It was during that time that I came to many conclusions regarding my own personal values. For example, that’s when I realized that I believe that each faith has it’s own validity and each is just a different path to the same end. It’s when I realized in the importance of ceaseless compassion. It’s when I came to recognize what Sarah calls Radical Acceptence.

If I didn’t have my family to calm me down in the middle of the night, to let me cry into their lap as they just listened and tried to offer words of advice, to take me to a counselor to get me the help I so desperately needed, I might not even be alive now because of self-negligence or suicide. I was so completely vulnerable at that time and I was very much reliant on others.

We need each other. As human beings we require one another for support, for comfort, for care. Even if we think we’re absolutely independent, at one time in our lives we’ve needed another being to sustain us.

Life certainly comes full circle. I need to keep that in perspective. I need to realize that sometimes I’m in the place to properly care for other beings with my whole soul and at other times, I desperately need others to help care for me… and sometimes that’s okay.

Have you heard? The Stratejoy Book Club has officially launched!

We’ll be holding our first LIVE chat discussion.  May 21st, 2012. Grab your girlfriends, some drinks, some snacks, and jam with Molly about this month’s book, MWF Seeking BFF by Rachel Bertsche.

Find out about the book, the live chat discussion, and how to host an event or attend an event right over here on the page with all of the juicy details.

divider

Introvert vs Extrovert: An Epic Battle of Self Acceptance

posted 5th May 2012    Written by: Cassie    CATEGORY: All Posts, Cassie, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 6

Once upon a time, a few months ago, I admitted to a friend of my habit of balancing out a room.  If the person I am with is quiet and timid, I will make it my duty to be loud and, unfortunately, sometimes obnoxious (I think of it as affable…). Then if they are the opposite, I will be the shy and soft spoken person.

Maybe this behavior goes back to Westerns and how this town isn’t big enough for the both of us, but my friend chuckled at my analysis:

“I really think you’re an extrovert in introvert’s clothing.”

My tendency to make crude pick up jokes kicked in and I wanted so bad to say, “Well, then maybe that’s some clothing I should shed.”  But I didn’t because,

A.)  He loves his girlfriend.

B.)  I love his girlfriend.

C.)  I have self respect (though  my love for corny pick up lines told in a potpourri of irony is getting stronger every day)

D.)  I only just thought about it in retrospect. (That’s my life.)

His words really resonated with me.  I have always been described as quiet, shy, and sweet.  Every time, I have absolutely loathed this description.  So much that I want to punch it in its chubby little cheeks of a face!

It reminds me of grade school when this description was very accurate.  I’ve always thought I didn’t get a personality until 7th grade.  I would skip recess to alphabetize the classroom library, or even to measure and perfect the distance between each desk.  When something didn’t go my way, I wanted to get out of something, or (though I hate admitting this) wanted attention, I would cry.  I mean BAWL MY EYES OUT.  I AM the original bawler.

Even today, when I can’t completely compute a difficult or uncertain emotion, I will cry.  Not to the extent that I would in grade school, but at what I like to think of as a healthy amount for a grown up kid.  I have narrowed down my tears to the following categories:

For years now, I have been fighting QUIET, battling SHY, and denying SWEET.

Then it hit me.

What’s wrong with that?

Who wouldn’t benefit from SWEET? (Besides my thighs.)

And my tendency to keep QUIET and be aware of almost everything around me?  I get my best ideas when observing.  I learn so much by listening.

Now shy… I will not accept.  I am not shy.  I will be the first person to admit that I just farted, am on my period, pick my nose in the car, and pick wedgies while working out at the gym.  Although, I am accepting that QUIET and SWEET are not the worst things to be remembered for, I am no longer concerned about this.  I no longer mind it and a lot of brain space has opened up to tackle other issues.  What do I care about what other people think of me if I know who and what I am.

Why have I been so concerned whether people thought I was introvert or an extrovert?  I’ve come to discover that what I do is this: I will take a huge jump out of my comfort zone, pushing, running, and wailing.  When I succeed and even when I fail, I will snuggle up in my blanket of introversion until I am re-energized to do it all over again.

And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.

 

Photo credit: AlphaDesigner via Flickr

divider

Don’t get lost. Learn to compromise. Watch bad reality TV.

posted 3rd May 2012    Written by: Rachel    CATEGORY: Inspiration, Life Lesson, Love/Relationships, Quarterlife Crisis, Rachel, Season 6

I used to be scared that I would get lost in a relationship, and that I would have to be the one constantly compromising my dreams. I don’t know where this fear came from, yet I held so steadfastly to the fact that I had to be in control, to make sure I didn’t lose my way or have my dreams derailed. It has taken me 30 years to really figure out who I am and what I want. In the past few years, I have found my calling and comfort in my skin. I don’t want to lose that or the momentum for the big dreams I have.

One of the biggest hurdles that I had to get over to be with Mr. Paul Child, was learning that I won’t get lost in OUR relationship. He’s great about keeping me on track and sitting me down in front of my computer to write, or work on each aspect for my business. He values who I am as an individual, and is willing to support me in all my endeavors. I spent so much time worrying about getting lost, but the funny thing is, I don’t feel lost, and if anything, I feel more myself. I also feel supported and cheered on, at every turn and set-back. And there are a lot of set-backs.

In turn, I’ve had to make sure that I’m supporting his dreams and desires. Embracing the things that he loves to do. Which currently includes searching for a new job for him in a yet unknown location. Building his career. Camping. Jeeping. Off-roading. Traveling to all the national parks. Cue compromise.

This weekend, Mr. Paul Child and I went to the sporting goods store to look at tents and air mattresses. He loves to camp and well, I don’t. My idea of camping is Hampton Inn (no room service? Shut the front door!). It’s great that he wants to include me in the decision of the tent, but honestly, the only opinions I can offer is, “It’s cute” or “I love these little pockets inside.” While he chatted with the sales guy, I ran around the massive store, playing with camo vests, fishing nets, and duck calls.

 

Mr. Paul Child picked out a tent and an air mattress, and we arrived back at my house. With two camping trips on the books, he set it up in my living room for us to sleep in, to ease me into camping. Oh, dear. I stuffed the tent with pillows and made Mr. Paul Child angle the tent so I could see the tv (Pretty sure that’s not going to happen in the woods.). We slept two nights in there, and it wasn’t too bad. I know the woods will be different, but at least it will be reasonably comfortable. I’m accepting this probably won’t be my dream way to spend a weekend, but I will be with the love of my life and it will definitely be a new experience (Plus, excellent time to roast up some of my delicious homemade s’mores).

I’ve been trying to be as giving and open to new things as possible. How do you balance taking care of your needs and continuing to be open and giving to your partner? I honestly don’t know the answer to this. It’s something I think about and I’m pretty sure it’s not formulaic.

Our weekend ended back in a comfortable bed (YES!) watching one of my favorite reality shows. Mr. Paul Child hates these kinds of shows, but he did lay there watching many episodes with me (thank you Netflix streaming!), and didn’t complain. Compromises are little and big. We’re trying to find a balance that makes US both happy.

 

divider

The Dreamcatcher in the Rye

posted 2nd May 2012    Written by: Jill    CATEGORY: All Posts, Jill, Life Lesson, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 6, Spirituality

Dreamcatchers were the go-to craft for all of my summer camps, art classes, and rainy days.  I amassed quite the collection; all of which lived their elementary art project lives to the fullest before finding their way into the trash.

Maybe the lop-sided strings and broken feathers didn’t have the longest lifespan, but I still haven’t forgotten what dreamcatchers symbolize.

They catch good dreams in their web, and allow them to slide down the feathers to the sleeper.  They trap nightmares, and hold onto them until they disappear in the daylight.

Overlooking the multiple interpretations (and tradition defying commercialization), they’re beautiful little things, aren’t they?  I feel like Camila has one or twenty.

Filtering the good from the bad, they give ease to the sleeper before and during their rest; they savor those good dreams.

I have good dreams.

I dream that I’ll find my niche in the world.  I have a career that is fulfilling, creative, and altruistic.  I’ll look back on my fresh-out-of-college self and laugh; I wish I could tell her to keep her head up, to keep pushing, and to stop wearing sundresses on cold days.

I dream that I’m happy and fulfilled on my own, but am so lucky to be in love (preferably to a boy bander).  I celebrate one of those thirty-something birthdays, and I realize my maternal clock has finally kicked in.  Then, I say  silent prayer of gratitude that I didn’t have a “whoops” incident before this moment (knock on wood times a million).

I dream that I’ve stopped taking things so seriously, and spring for venti (!) soy lattes because life is short!  I say things like “Life is short!” and “Of course we’ll have another round! It’s girls night!”  I enjoy more girls’ nights.  And girls’ days.  And more girl time in general.

Unlike the lucky sleeper with the dreamcatcher above her bed, I also have bad dreams.

They’re nightmares that my little bouts of “the blues” will get out of control, and I won’t be able to handle them anymore.

They’re nightmares where I resemble one of those cinematic stock characters of a middle-aged housewife who drinks too much in the middle of the day and lets her kids play with broken glass.

They’re nightmares that I am alone in an apartment that has a weird smell.  I have too many tchotchkes that remind me of moments I should have enjoyed but didn’t.

It’s a battle between faith and cynicism.

Unfortunately, my cynic is reigning supreme these days.  I roll my eyes at the monotony of another hourly job, and resent how it seems that everyone else is getting their footing in these life-skates.  My good dreams have stopped sliding down my feathers, mostly because I’ve stopped catching them.

Because optimists are annoying.  People who believe that all their dreams can come true?  People who think that life is just rainbows and Hanson concerts? They don’t get REAL life!  AM I RIGHT?!

…said the cynic.  The optimist is cowering in a corner somewhere, nervous that no one will like her.

Maybe it’s less about the black-and-white “cynic” and “optimist” labels, and more about what we visualize, and which dreams we catch.  Those happy optimists are  just catching more good dreams, and putting a little more blind faith in the future.

I have good dreams, and bad dreams, all while I’m awake.

When I’m awake, I’m my own dreamcatcher.  I’m a dreamcatcher who can choose which dreams to hold onto, and which dreams to let disappear in the daylight.

[Photo Credit: ceceliafitzecam]

divider

« Previous Page — Next Page »