Two years

"[Patti] Smith was 29 when she recorded Horses. Joan Didion was 29 when she wrote her first novel. Tina Fey was 29 when she was named head writer of SNL. bell hooks was 29 when she published her first major work. Oprah had just turned 30 when she got her first local TV talk show.

There is a reason "boy genius" rolls off the tongue more naturally than "girl genius." By the time most of us accept the fact that we have earned this label for ourselves, we are most decidedly no longer girls."

-Ann Friedman article on Patti Smith's "Just Kids."

I know I've been heavy on the quotes lately, but there have just been a lot lately that have spoke to me. And now there's this one. This one I just love so much. 

An inordinate amount of my time is spent worrying over the fact that I haven't figured out what to do with my life yet. Panic attacks because my calling hasn't been found. Anger at working myself sick in high school and college, and still somewhat now, all with the goal of being something when I grow up, and having no idea what that is. Tears because my passions can't pay the rent. 

But, it turns out, I have a little time. I'm 27 years, 2 months, and 22 days old. So I've got two years. I have two years to figure it out. No problem.

Also, must add this. I read Smith's "Just Kids" last month and it's the best book I've read thus far this year. And Tina Fey is my idol and Joan Didion is just brilliant. I read some bell hooks in college and should read more and Oprah has an empire. All are most definitely geniuses.

Getting it together

In general, as appreciated as they are, I don't handle compliments well. There is always the urge to immediately deny the truth of the compliment, steer the compliment-giver to another subject, and of course, pay them a compliment back. I'm not sure why this is, other than being supremely uncomfortable with both attention and even the perception of conceit. This is especially the case when people compliment me on being "together." Even writing that out is hard because the arrogance and cockiness oozes out of the word. But let me finish.

Whether it be my clothes, actions, or decisions, they've been described as "together" more than once. And in some ways, maybe it's true. I know myself and my goals, plans, and beliefs. But 99% of the time I am most decidedly NOT together. And I never know what to say when that "t" word is thrown out. Except to immediately start listing the litany of reasons why this is laughable and pretty much unbelievable.

Like when I realize there is a stain on the hoodie worn to work. Or when a co-worker introduces me to her family and my shoe comes off as I get out of my chair. Yes, I met this person's family with one shoe off. While wearing a Beatles t-shirt. And earlier this week, wearing a new top and jacket, the tags still firmly attached to each as I went about my day. (Thankfully, they were tucked in and no one saw.)

That is not "together."

I have bad days. Actually, bad weeks. An entire month of bad. And even an entire semester once. Some days I just can't seem to shake life and get it together. Some days are so un-together there is no choice but to give up, come home, put on my pajamas, and get in bed.

Some days my room looks like this:

Is this the room of a together person? Dresser drawers that are never closed, an over-flowing laundry basket, an unusable desk chair, piles of paperwork, and jeans and shoes that forcefully eject themselves from the jungle that is my closet? Hardly.

No one is as "together" as they think they are or may seem to others. No one.

"I always skip Wednesdays." (Tim Riggins, FNL)

In high school I:

• Never went a day without having my nails painted.
• Owned no real t-shirts.
• Never left the house without everything looking just. so.

In college I:

• Had my nails painted some days.
• Accrued more than 50 t-shirts.
• Never wore pajamas to class and rarely wore a hoodie out.

In real life I:

• Sometimes go days with chipped nail polish or unevenly filed nails.
• Wore a hoodie to work. Twice.
• Had to talk myself out of wearing a t-shirt today that has been previously used to exercise and sleep in. And I wore a baseball hat.

At this rate of decline, in ten years, my wardrobe will consist solely of housecoats and slippers.

This could be looked at as a sign that I'm letting go of some of my perfectionist control freak tendencies. But...

I ironed both the sleep/exercise shirt and the shirt I ended up wearing. Both of which had to have navy in them to match the hat. Then I lint rolled the hat because it had fuzzies on it. On the feet were black flip flops instead of brown to match my black bag. Finally, I went through several pairs of earrings and necklaces before settling on ones that went with the casual and effortless look I was going for.

It turns out that even when I'm being a lazy slob I'm still a perfectionist control freak. Maybe I don't need to say hello to the housecoats and slippers just yet.

Go to hell Duke, ok?

Occasionally I'll think that maybe, just maybe, I'm crossing over into adulthood. I'm never happy about it and I immediately try to counteract it by putting my hair in pigtails or watching a Disney movie. (Both of which, in my opinion, are still acceptable adult behaviors, as long as done in the privacy of your home.) But then, someone says something derogatory about UNC, or worse, something derogatory about UNC and something nice -- shudder -- about Duke, and I feel my grasp on maturity slip away. And all I want to do is kick them in the face. Twice.

And in the mental list I keep in my head of "things a grown up would do" and "things a grown up probably wouldn't do," I have to say that a kick in the face is probably in the latter. I'm also sure it does not qualify as a classy thing to do, and since I endeavor to always lead a classy lifestyle, I guess I can't just go around kicking random people in the face. Even though they really, really deserve it.

Which leads me, finally, to the point. To quote Jay Z, as I have before, "you can pay for school, but you can't buy class."

I am of what I consider to be a rare breed of someone who was a fan of the school before she was a fan of the basketball team. Seriously, little ol' six-year-old me, playing on the elementary school playground*, talking about going to UNC one day, didn't even know what basketball was. But damn if I didn't know that early that I was in love.

Keep on paying your hundreds of thousands for that education, Dookies. It doesn't equal class, no matter how much you think otherwise. And for the record, my Carolina degree doesn't equal class either; no degree does. I just wanted to hate on Duke for a bit.

*True story.

On growing up

"We're adults...when did that happen?
And how do we make it stop?"
-Meredith, Grey's Anatomy

The second frame pretty much sums up my philosophy as an adult:

"Because we're grown-ups now,
and it's our turn to decide what that means."
-XKCD

I've made it my mission as a grown-up-type person to do everything I can to not ever actually be a full-fledged grown-up. It doesn't mean being immature or stupid, it just means reminding myself to not take everything so seriously. It means embracing the possibility that one day I could fill a room with playpen balls. (Dare to dream, Bonnie, dare to dream!)

I want to be the type of person who never forgets how freeing it is to have popcorn for dinner and M&Ms for breakfast. Who finds Disney TV shows a guilty pleasure. Who can be mature and driven, but buys a Barbie doll every now and then to help relieve stress. I want to be the type of grown-up who plays on a slip and slide, dances in a fountain, plays hopscotch, and jumps rope. I don't ever want to forget the beauty of imagination and creativity. I want my heart to always skip a beat when it hears that unmistakable sound of an ice cream truck. If a kid shows me a boa constrictor consuming an elephant I want to recognize it! I will never call my father anything but Daddy. I can travel all over the world, I can watch the news every night and cry at the state of affairs, but then I can put on a song I loved in high school and un-rhythmically dance around my room. I will grin every time I look at the Paddington Bear my Mom bought me in London...when I was 22. I'll vacuum around the piles on my floor instead of picking them up. I'll have piles of stuff on my floor! I'll set aside money each month for savings, I'll pay my bills (reasonably) on time, but I can have a Magna Doodle on my wall and a tiara on my desk.

I can be a grown-up who doesn't forget that a grown-up was once a child, too. And that life is entirely too short and too hard to never jump on a trampoline or skip in public after the age of 10.

"All grown-ups were children first.
(But few of them remember.)"
-Antoine De Saint-Exupery

A New Purpose

Exactly one month from today will be my favorite day of the year - which is foolish as there are 364 to follow - my birthday. But as I have become one of those people in recent years who have grown resistant, and quite bitter, to adding another candle to the cake, I don't really look forward to it as much.

(That's not entirely true. I love how I always end up with multiple cakes. How my mom always color-coordinates the wrapping for her anal-retentive middle child. And never ever having to work or go to school because it's a holiday, all over the world!)

But anyway, I briefly contemplated holding off on turning 24 - still collecting the cake and presents of course - and staying 23 for a few more months, because I do not feel I've gotten the most out of this year as I should have. The words "squandered" and "wasted" actually, come to mind.

But instead, I've decided to say good riddance to 23 in one fail swoop. Au revoir, you silly odd numbers! Arrivederci 2007, you kind of sucked!

In order to ensure that 24/2008 is more productive and appealing, I've decided to embark on a project, blatantly ripped off from here: http://jen365.blogspot.com/

Her explanation:

Last year for my birthday, I decided to do something I'd never done before, and I traveled solo to Paris. This year, I want to do 365 things I've never done before. Starting the day I turn 29 I will do one new thing every day until I turn 30. The things I've never done can be as simple as "wear a Florida Marlins hat" or "skip across Sheep Meadow in Central Park." I'm more interested in small, interesting weird things than big things like "skydiving" or illegal things like "drugs and stealing" or completely not-me things like "tattoos."

Thus, I have decided to do something NEW every day of 2008. No, really. I'll chronicle it all here, a post a day, if all goes correctly. I am getting rather excited about this and have already jotted down a few ideas.

But I need more! So please, whoever you are, whether we share the same blood or you have never ever met me before, suggest something. Anything, within the confines of decency, my morals, and my (meager) wallet. And preferably easily photographable to make this blog more bearable. Jen has done everything from showered with her clothes on (a possibility) to serenading a customer service rep (awesome but probably not happening). All ideas welcome.

To get it started, a list of a few things I HAVE done:

• Taken a vacation by myself.
• Rode in a pace car at a race.
• Walked barefoot in Chapel Hill, Durham, London, Paris, and Washington D.C.
• Gotten stamps at a non-stamp giving ATM when I wanted cash.
• Pulled an all-nighter. Or 20.
• Written in a paper journal every day for the last two years.
• Seen the Pope.
• Slept in the street for football tickets.
• Danced with an Argentinean.
• Gone to a hairdresser and just said "cut it all off."