Bitch, Please

Over Spring Break I went home and spent the week seeing friends and lounging around my house writing my thesis. There was also a fair amount of Dunkin Donuts Coffee. (literally, my biggest problem with Los Angeles). On Friday night I accompanied my dad to temple as he had his mother's first yahrtzeit (which my computer just tried to correct to "yahtzee," what, is google a secret front for a 1950s country club?). Our Rabbi, who I don't care for in the least, I find him devoid of inspiration, intelligence, and social skills, insisted on a traveler's prayer which dear old dad sold me down the river for. Really, how far is 3K miles? It's a plane. Not the Oregon Trail. Soon after we released from the chamber of rambling a new addition to our synagogue approached me demanding that I clarify where I was going that I had required a blessing, and I replied, begrudgingly, that I was returning for my last semester at USC.
Let me clarify, my begrudgement was not a reflection of dissapointment in it being the end of college. That's an idea that I've pretty much come around to. I was not thrilled with the prospect of the conversation that would inevitably occur between me and this poorly dressed stranger. And despite my greatest efforts at California charm the exchange ended with me saying "And for the year I hope to get a job in writing" to which she, full of the confidence and poise that accompanies a dress sewn in a country that no  longer exists in the eyes of the U.S. government with an even more dated haircut, responded "Well. Good luck with that."

I cock my head. Squint my eyes. And walk away. Who does she think she is? Excuse me, I've never met you. It's clear why you're speaking to me and not someone who could recognize you from past social trauma. Lock it up. You wouldn't say that to someone you knew, so why would you let it stand as a first impression?
I was genuinely taken aback. And it could've been my pre-temple blood orange cosmo (#delicious), but it also could have been the fact that I had become unaccustomed to people being so frankly rude. I took a few things away from the encounter:

1. Never be like that woman
2. ...no, i guess that was it

If you don't get what I'm doing, that's fine. But let me be. It's not your place to offer judgement on my life, just like it's not my place to offer judgement on yours. If you're not on my team, you're not welcome in the stadium. This is practice. Let me figure my shit out before you start offering unsolicited advice. Because just like you're much more than the answer to one deceptively ambiguous question (When was the last time you went shopping?), so am I.

Good Day. I said Good Day!

Confidence, Cohen. Confidence.

These wise words, spoken by Anna to Seth "founder of Geek Chic" Cohen, embody the OC's habit of projecting 20-something social issues onto the generally unbelievable teenagers of Orange County. (I rewatched this entire series over the course of several years, partially by accident, because my younger sister, who had command of the TV at all times that were not Gilmore Girls and 30 Rock, had a habit of falling in love with high school based 40 minute dramas only after they went off air). But my point, dear readers, is that Anna had a point. Not only was she an admirable bicoastal (and in my opinion very potentially bi-sexual), jet-setter, fashionista, high school sophomore, but she knew how to keep her cool.

Anna's independence makes her a believable 20-something, but her level-headed quippiness makes her an admirable one. So I'd like to dedicate this post to reiterating her message: Confidence.

I found this gem on Pinterest:

You Don't Have to Have it All Figured Out to Move Forward

This was the most life affirming piece of advice I have encountered in a long time. But I would like to amend this sage wisdom with the fact that you should keep moving forward, regardless of your knowledge (or lack thereof) of where you'll end up. As it is with a bicycle, moving forward is the only way to keep your balance.

Unfortunately, it's not that easy. Roadblocks on roadblocks on roadblocks exist between you and the huge blank canvas that is your next step. The first and most obvious would be that the canvas is blank. Not a whole lot of motivation...or so you thought! The fact that the canvas is blank should be ALL of your motivation! These are the most exciting years of your life. You have the most resources (that money in the bank, that hot bod, a biological ability to resist hangovers, those parents...) with the fewest things tying you down (I don't see no ring on that finger.) So go on an adventure!

Until you hit road block number 2.  Your Parents. Now here your pesky parents can represent friends, siblings, extended family, your parents' friends, or they can just represent your parents. But this is the roadblock that I'm really committed to committing arson on.

They will tell you that your ideas are dumb. That the printed book industry is going the way of grammar or that mermaids do not merit a field within marine biology.
They'll tell you that you need a plan. Moving back home isn't an option, pops? You're withdrawing money from my bank account to repay you for my graduation trip? You want me to find a paid internship in nonprofits? Y'know, that's so funny, I actually always suspected that you were INSANE.
They'll tell you that you haven't thought things through. They'll enumerate the dangers of urban city scapes and international backpacking and offer fraudulent wisdom on everything from tap water  to the mating habits of hostel dwelling New Zealanders in Germany. And they'll pretend that they're somehow helping you with their friendly advice (excuse me a moment, I just have to go grab a towel, the sarcasm was dripping SO heavily that it started puddling under my computer, and since the next upgrade is on me...). And maybe in some sort of latent rebellion way they actually are helping, but if so its quite indirect.

For the time being all the inquisition is doing is instilling in you a fearful and paralyzing sense of self doubt. The most vital reaction for you to have is to ignore them. Because despite that terrifyingly high horse from which they condescend to you, they were no better off when they graduated from CMU (Cave Man U) in 1400 BCE with a degree in heavy lifting just as that new fangled wheel was flooding the cart market. Seriously. It's going to be OK.

But here's the twist. It's not enough to just know that they're wrong. You have to say it. Like out loud. And while I'll give you a free pass on confronting the doubtful d-bags of the world face-to-face, you have to at least say it to your friends. Write it. Text it. Tattoo it. Owl it. But most importantly, BELIEVE that it's ok that you don't know where you're going, and have faith that the decisions that you're making in the name of your happiness are leading you closer to doors that you can unlock, and enter, and thrive behind.

Basically, to all the people who want to ask what my plan is, here's a preview:

Argo fuck yourself. Now excuse me, I'm going to drink lots of wine.