Congratulations on surviving middle school. I am sure it was horrible. As you continue your journey through the public school system, I would like to share with you one piece of advice: spend all of the money you are earning. Spend it recklessly and without shame.
Cynics will tell you that you should work hard and save for college. Well, maybe a cynic wouldn’t say that, but I wanted to channel Barack Obama so you all would find me wise and heed my message. More than that, I want to tell you the truth: you can’t. You can’t save for college. Well, maybe you can, but not in such a way that the misery to outcome ratio equals a rational decision. Assuming your priority is emancipation by way of car over saving for college, you’ll only have two years to play the part of “responsible teen saving for college” and you should play that part (your parent’s friends will find it adorable). In secret, you should start pissing it away on any cheap thrill you come across, for no other reason than that you can. If you find yourself, by nature, the squirrel type who likes to stock the acorns, spend it on an experience. Travel. Be the pompous fuck with a Parisian train station story for the first meal in the res hall. The point is, spend all the money. Spend it selfishly. Spend it before the phrases like six-month emergency fund or health savings account creep into your consciousness and start fucking up your life. Spend it before you have to start buying shit you don’t want to buy, like your first dustpan or an economy sized crate of toilet paper (assuming you don’t plan on abusing the building access from your student job and the fact that the janitorial staff, so blithely expecting more from humanity, leave stacks of it sitting in the bathroom).
Some of you ask why. I’ll tell you. The FAFSA was designed to have you put any expendable funds available towards your education. Realistically, you’ll cover your dorm expenses. I’ll admit that’s not nothing, but when your still-technically-a-stranger-slut of a roommate is having sex on your bunk bed you will be forced to recount the cost/benefit of your toils in context. No matter how many fish fry platters you scrape while your friends are getting hopped up on Mountain Dew and touching each other, all of it will be gone before you finish your first year. No matter how many Friday nights you spend letting other people’s kids throw up on you or Saturday mornings fashioning compressed lard into something called a “relish tray,” you will be peddling your own plasma for Ron Diaz by your third semester. Kids, that is a fact (save the brave few of you not reporting your tip money to the IRS, you should save that for toilet paper).
Make no mistake, you should exercise some responsibility. Don’t develop any spendy addictions to prescription pills or Swiss, vegan-certified beauty products that you can’t maintain once you’re in college. You don’t need that. What you do need, and will highly value someday, is the vague recollection of a time where you didn’t have to shame-sign debit card slips for anything besides tampons and noodles.
Good luck and God bless.
“Your 20’s are your ‘selfish’ years. It’s a decade to immerse yourself in every single thing possible. Be selfish with your time, and all the aspects of you. Tinker, travel, explore, love a lot, love a little, and never touch the ground.” — Kyoko Escamilla
(Source: emilymcmanus, via stamos)
Tell me how I’m supposed to breath with no air.
This burrito’s so big it’s not fair.
I’m about to eat the whole thing ‘cause I don’t care.
No air. No air.
“I just looked up “lots of cats” (don’t ask) and your blog is on the first row of google search results.” — co-worker
One of life’s simplest pleasures is sifting through the words we once found important enough to write down: friendly notes, love letters, blog posts (hey, future me!), and the jackpot… old journals. If read correctly, ignoring the weekly personality changes and epiphanies, a lot of life lessons can be found amidst the babble.
I uncovered my ratty old journal yesterday.
Life Lessons Learned: Entries Written Summer After High School Graduation
Life Lessons Learned: Entries Written Summer After Freshman Year of College
Life Lessons Learned: Entries Written Sophomore Year
Life Lessons Learned: Entries Written During a Semester Away from Home
Whether you like it or not, it’s hard to refute that HBO’s Girls is doing something right. The advertising exec version of myself might actually say “Look at all of this passionate commentary it’s generated from its target audience!” and give Lena Dunham a virtual thumbs up or a +k in “females.”
While I don’t love everything about the show, it really has shown me more—sometimes ugly—truth than a fitting room mirror. Take this (abridged) exchange from last night’s episode, for example:
Hannah on the phone with Marnie while she’s at work
Hannah: ”Marnie, I got the test results back…I have HPV…”
Marnie: —crying— “Why would this happen to you? You’re so careful. This shouldn’t happen to you.” Etc. Etc.
Hannah: ”Really, I’m going to be OK. Don’t cry, please.”
Marnie: ”OK, I hate to bring this up now, but rent is due in a week.”
Hannah: ”Really?! You know that I’m basically pre-death right now, right?!”
This is a classic structure, folks.
It might be hard to think of a time when this has happened with a girlfriend since we tend to present the more buttoned-up/rational versions of ourselves, but holy hell, if I had a dollar for every time this has happened between me and my significant other mom.
Person A: Presents [problem].
Person B: Sympathizes with Person A’s [problem].
Person A: Insists that [problem] is really not that bad.
Person B: Inserts their [problem] which relates to Person A.
Person A: Immediately offended that Person B could even attempt to mention their [problem] at a time like this when they are dealing with their [problem].
Smell what I’m stepping in?
I really wish I could go back in time to high school graduation (not really) and gift myself this sitcom. You can keep the “Live the life you’ve imagined!” wall decal. I may not take naked* baths with my BFF, but I can still relate to this show x100.
Besides, how rare is it to feel more enlightened after watching a TV show?
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* One time in college, Allison & I created the po’ girl’s hot tub and took a hot bath in our swimsuits. Photos of this event may or may not exist.
two weeks? three days? a month? when was the last time you thought of him, you wonder. something has brought him to the front of your thoughts and instantly you realize that you feel nothing. numb to the person who so effortlessly dropped you from his life after four and a half years, who made you cry for 3 months straight, the person you had almost written vows for. how can it be that your heart doesn’t suddenly start pounding out of your ribcage, you aren’t cringing to hold back tears, your breathing is slow and controlled.
there were days you thought this moment wasn’t physically possible. you’d tried to rid yourself of that feeling for months. you sobbed over photos, over old letters, over cold sheets. you wrote yourself lists upon lists of why you couldn’t be together and why you should forget him. you learned how to cry silently at work so no one could hear you when the swelling in your chest from an 2-day unanswered text message was unbearable. you tried to convince yourself that you’re better than the dramatic overreactions you’re having, but it just makes it worse because you can’t stop. you become your own worst enemy.
similarly, your friends become therapists. they tell you you’re pretty, they tell you you’re smart, they tell you how you deserve better. you are laughing inside at how cliche these moments are. have i really become that girl that everyone feels bad for? you wonder if your behavior is only following the motions of what you’ve learned of break-ups through cinema or if all those sappy rom-com’s actually reflect our bizarre behaviors. as they nod in agreement over the reasons why you can’t and shouldn’t get back together, all you think about is how you will, you have to. in order to cope with the situation, you revert to your disney princess fantasies of happily-ever-afters and you tell yourself he’ll come back to sweep you off your feet. deep down you know its a lie, and as much as you didn’t believe them at the time, reassurance and support from your friends meant everything.
somewhere between the constant word vomit of breakup woes, the ‘there are more fish in the sea’ encouragements from friends, and subsequent internalization of the whole thing, your body silently gives up. you’re heart takes a nap, your muscles relax, and you finger paint ‘fuck you’ over the deep breath you were holding in. you realize that although you may be at your lowest low, the world doesn’t stop for you. on the days you feel like you can’t muster up the energy to get yourself out of bed, you do, because you have to. it’s a blessing in that you realize life moves on, and slowly you do, too. you become okay with not knowing the details of his life. you realize you’ve lost the privilege of being the first person they tell things to. when a text goes unanswered, you hardly notice.
its when you get a phone call from the hospital that throws you for a loop. a bike accident, broken bones, and a boy on lots of medications telling you he wished you could be there makes you feel uneasy. you remind yourself that he is not in the right state if mind. it scares you to realize that you aren’t the person who is first in line to visit him at the hospital. when would you have been notified if it had ended up worse? you want to calm him down and remind him you love him. can you say that? do you? its a different kind of love this time. i love you, not as my soul mate. i love you, not the way i love chocolate. i love you, not the way i love my mother. in greek there are four distinct words for love - agápe, unconditional; éros, passionate; philía, friendship or activity; and storgē, affectionate. and yet I can’t find a word to properly convey this feeling. weeks later when you run into him on the bus you’re taken aback when he calls you by your name - hey allie - instead of his nickname for you. ask how he is doing, get a few tid-bits and updates. you ask about work, about family, and even about her. you really just want to make sure he is doing alright.
losing someone for whom you cared so deeply for is just as destabilizing, humiliating and cliche as they tell you. what’s even more cliche is that failed relationships offer an unmatched learning experience. there is something to be said about coming out on the other side, that moment you realize your scars have healed. be grateful for the things you were able to learn about yourself. you’re almost relieved to know that you can feel and hurt in a way you didn’t know was possible. relieved to know that you can overcome, forgive, and move on. realize your resilience, realize your strength, and realize that you are now a better person.
surviving a break-up doesn’t mean you hit the delete button on all of your memories and moments. there will always be sounds, smells, days, and places that make you think of him. acknowledge that what is no longer right for you once was exactly what you needed. appreciate the intangible memories, the way you learned what love was supposed to feel like, what trust and honesty sounded like. stumble across an old email where he reminded you that you’d always be his greatest friend. close the computer and walk away into the kitchen. when you turn the faucet on to do the dishes, tears flood your eyes, roll down your cheeks into the sink and down the drain. life is made up entirely of loving and losing isn’t it? turn off the water, wipe your eyes and walk away. it won’t be easy if it happens again, but at least I’ll know I have it in me to survive.
Yuppie Purchase of the Week: The Ultimate Work Tote