The Heart of the Matter
in Quarter Life Crisis
« Previous Post
Tomorrow I turn 28. On the 28th. In 2008. In a flurry of eights, my twenties, it would seem, are nearing their end and this blog, it would seem, it's timeliness. Thirty approaches and... well, I'm not as freaked out as I used to be by the impending milestone. I'll be ready to embrace it, to become a thirty-something, on the 28th, in 2010—but in the meantime, there's a lot to be done.
Everyday, I feel like I move closer and closer to becoming the man I want to be and living the life I want to live. There are mistakes and missteps, of course, but generally, every step is in the right direction. There haven't been any earth-shattering changes since I uprooted my life—twice—in 2006 and ended up in Boston, but there has been a lot of progress.
Take my career, for example—Yesterday was my last day at my last job, my second in 2008. I started there just four month prior, in March, and found it to be a mixed bag. Moving from the laid-back world of college student activities into the intense universe of corporate marketing was a huge step, one that I excelled at, but one that wasn't quite right for me. A new opportunity found me in the last month and I decided to seize it. I start my new gig on July 8 at a "non-profit dot-com" where I'll be paid to write, fulfilling a life-long goal. I'm ridiculously excited to start the next chapter of my professional life. Here's hoping it's the right fit, at least for right now.
Beyond work? I still live with my best friend. I bought a new car a couple weeks ago. I bake now (you should taste my Chocolate Guinness Cupcakes). I'm completely obsessed with the Red Sox, who are equal parts surrogate boyfriends and part-time job. These are all things, little things, that make me happy of my status quo, and the direction I am headed in.
My life is good. But the big question mark for me, as it always has been, is love. Will I be in love by the time I turn thirty? Will I have found a soul mate? Funny, I don't think I've uttered or even thought about the phrase "soul mate" since leaving Vermont. But tonight, on the eve of 28, I'm thinking about it again.
I've been single for a little over two years now. There have been a lot of dates in the past two years, and a couple short-term boyfriends, but I've mostly been doing my own thing. I've been more than OK with flying solo, I've enjoyed it—and learned from it. But I've known for a while now that my whole "not ready, willing, or able to achieve intimacy" thing was utter bullshit, a defense mechanism that was simply an excuse not to try.
Last weekend, I returned to Burlington, Vermont for the first time since last August. The trip was short, sweet, and jam-packed with good friends, familiar faces, and old stomping grounds. My ex-boyfriend was mentioned in passing a few times, but his shadow did not loom over the city as it had during every other visit. I didn't think about him as much as I figured I would. In fact, I didn't think about him much at all.
I forced myself to revisit old memories as I returned, as I have on all other trips to Burlington, to the parking lot behind the old Billings Student Center, the place where I last (willingly) saw my old flame. This potential blitzkrieg of baggage turned out to be a complete bust. I was only there for a few minutes because, honestly, I was bored. It wasn't until that moment in that parking lot that I realized I had truly moved on. Days, weeks, go by without thinking about him now. I realized I had stopped hating him. Doesn't mean I ever want to see him again, but I had finally let go of the seething anger from all the betrayals and hurt over the years. The breakthrough had happened months before that visit to Burlington, but it took that return to deliver the epiphany.
Just like the Don Henley song (particularly as covered by india.arie), I've been thinking a lot about forgiveness lately. And it was then, in that parking lot, that I realized I had finally overcome the biggest obsticle—and the biggest cliché—in letting go of the biggest love—and hurt—of my life: I had forgiven myself. For falling in love, and failing. For losing myself. For putting up with so much bullshit. For having bad judgement and making mistakes. For loving the wrong person.
That homecoming allowed me to see just how far I've come in the past two years. I've grown. Learned. Changed. Progressed. And what have I become?
28. No less a twenty-something. Just more defined.
Tonight I lay on my comfy bed in my comfy apartment, on the edge of another birthday. Like Carrie Bradshaw before me, I tap away on an aging Powerbook about love—but I do so to the sounds of Remy and Orsillo in the glow of NESN as Papelbon strikes out another batter to end the 8th. My, how I've changed.
I've made a good life here. I've build a home. I've found a great job. I've discovered the love of the Sox and the love of this city. Now I just gotta find the love of my life.
Comments
Love that song. Love your blog.
I totally identify with what you are talking about only I feel I am a few steps behind you. I think I am venturing ever nearer to my "upheaval" and feel ready to take on a new direction in my life. I hope you continue to blog because it is thoroughly enjoyable to read.
Best wishes for your 28th year!
Powered by Movable Type 4. Hosted by LivingDot.