By most standards, I’m a good boy. I may not go to church, or participate in government, but I’m a delight for most mothers. I’ve always been that way. I wasn’t a fussy baby, not even with food, I did my homework and got pretty good grades. I never had a near-pregnancy scare, or any babymamadrama, no drugs, no dropouts; I was good, sailing straight through. And on the other side, in retrospect, I can counter intuitively say, I wish I had been a bit more of a fuckup.
It’s backwards that now, in the years where I should be honing my adulthood, I am feeling more inclined to balk against “the system,” (cue ominous music), the way things are supposed to be and the reasons for them. As a teenager, even though I was superficially down with rebellion, I was actually down with the system: school, friends, college, job, wife, rinse, wash, repeat. It didn’t seem as bleak then as it does now. And so, I adhered to that system, neglected temptations and did a good job getting where I am now, without much drama. I can’t say that I’ve had that many “mistakes” in life. Obviously I’ve messed up before. I’ve probably messed up several times since sitting down to write this. I’m referring to larger, more notable acts of mischief committed against one’s better judgment.
Example: Rachel comes from a well-off family. She has all the pedigree to become an advancing person in society: white, upper class, went to a notable college; being a woman was the major detail working against her…not bad. During her sophomore year of college, Rachel dropped out. She didn’t feel like she needed to be there at the moment. She interned at a few places, realizing that her forte was actually on a visually creative platform. Where her college track would have put her in finance, law or medicine, after graduation (one year late), Rachel accepted an entry-level job as a graphic designer.
There are mistakes on tests, and mistakes in following driving directions, but they don’t give you a comparable education as the Rachel versus college saga. People need this kind of freedom.
America’s lifestyle has become so systematic that the alibi of “I didn’t know any better” sounds as phony as “it was an honest mistake.” Children are allowed less and less time to be kids, by pre-K, many of them are beginning their track to the Ivy Leagues. During college, we put ourselves on a track that will carve out the rest of our lives. I was “lucky” enough to take a math course that subversively (barely) spelled out the best way to lock down property and get money floating around in the stock market. The American lifestyle has almost become a replicable formula; the American dream is seeming more like a science than an adventure.
In the 70s, a 25 year old was barely expected to know what she or he wanted with to do with her or his life, maybe start a button selling business, maybe become a cook or maybe just live and figure it out as the information comes in from the universe. Today, a 25 year old should be setting up for buying a house and planning, however intently, on settling down to become “and adult”. If you’re a person that doesn’t know what you want to do with your life at 25, it doesn’t matter that much, because you know what you’re supposed to do. The math has been calculated, and if you follow the plan, the typical American life (which isn’t even a bad life) can be yours.
The plan, doesn’t include any counter intuitive mistakes, it includes proofs against them. Blowing your savings to finance a documentary, bad idea. Experimenting with the same sex, just to see if you’ll like it or not, bad idea. Quitting the job your college major prepared you for to do something less lucrative but way more fun, super bad idea. These kinds of actions, and many in between, are back steps. These are back steps like taking drugs in high school, switching your major in college, being a career woman who uses men for sex (slut, as defined by Americana dictionary). And in an effort to reclaim the malleability of life, the prospect of the American dream, I’m declaring that I wish I had made more mistakes, taken a few more chances and allowed myself to gain what there was to learn from submitting to our basic human curiosities, attractions, intuitions, temptations, needs.
Before, people would be diagnosed with mid-life crisis as they neared their forties. Today, young quarter-centuries have their own strain of the crisis. It often starts by affecting the economic/professional organs before it stops the emotional conviction muscle from transporting motivation and inspiration to the brain. Once these two organs have been infected, all the other parts of the life (body) go haywire until said 25 year old, no longer understands what they’re doing with their life, questioning if they’ve had the system analyzed incorrectly the entire time, or if the system is right, or, or, or, or. The cure, take two tablets of adventure a day. This will help to break down the expectations that cause the quarter life crises from forming. Common side effects of reduced expectations include lower levels of stress, a heightened sense of adventure, motivation, higher frequencies of making mistakes, and larger breasts (men experience this as firm pectorals). If you begin experiencing any of these symptoms, consult your friends in your favorite social setting and insist that they get with the program.
Don’t invest in the stock market; try to buy a house in Costa Rica. It’s beautiful there. You’ll get no returns though, unless you consider your quality of life, nature and the ability to travel a return.
Don’t have children! Kidding. Have kids, but when you’re ready. The timelines of marriage and childbirth are expectations that were built for us. Instead of having children, have years of dressing as sexy as you want and listening to vulgar/amazing music…while having vulgar/amazing sex.
Quit! Start you’re own.
Hold off on putting away for your retirement. While you’re brain is still lucid, invest that dough in that documentary you’ve always wanted to make.
I write all this as I navigate this logic, while trying not to fly too far off track. Even while I believe that it’s fine to moonwalk the unbeaten path, I still find the young, self-inflicted “homeless” travelers/vagrants (honestly, probably just burnt out) insanely annoying. The logic itself is an adventure. The most tragic part of the quarter centuries who lose their understanding of what they’re doing with their lives is not that they develop this crisis, or that they become insecure of themselves, or that they worry if they’re doing it all right, it’s that they don’t question why they’re doing it.
