Having recently surpassed the halfway mark of a 20-something, I’ve found myself becoming more aware of the challenges and pressures one faces as they bound over the hump of a quarter century. I’m not talking about the typical find-a-boyfriend-get-married-pop-out-a-few-kids-then-join-tennis-team challenges a young woman in the south may constantly fret over. I mean the obviously “less significant” dilemmas. The ones that make your head spin. The ones that make you think (well, maybe they just make me think), “if this is life before boyfriends, marriage, children and beyond….then I’m totally %$&#@.”
A prime example would be cooking for one. It BLOWS. Not only do I loathe standing in front of the poultry freezer being forced to justify my $7 purchase by listing off 8 different ways I can cook the chicken this week; but why the heck am I always stuck with the mother cluckin’ CHICKEN?! Sorry, Steve Martin, but I do not want the cheaper chicken. I want red meat- filet mignon, NY strips, and porterhouse. Hell, I’ll take the bottom of the barrel chuck strips and whip up a stir fry. But, since living under a roof, putting gas in my car and taking hot showers every morning are all “luxuries” I am not willing to forgo- my meager grocery budget does not allow for the finer things the Publix Deli has to offer. And when the sheer act of feeding myself 5 day old poultry becomes a constant reminder that I am single, I can’t even splurge on Little Debbie (who has quite the knack for calming my woes, however temporarily)! For now, and probably for four more years, the cheaper chicken prevails.
Another, more 21st century-esqe, hair graying problem: keeping up with myself. As I sat on my couch last week making fun of the crazies, pathetics and ultimately better off divas on The Bachelor: The Women Tell All, I paused for a quick reality check. There I was watching HDTV, a computer on my lap, responding to work emails, facebooking, Twittering, blog stalking, responding to text messages while my latest and greatest app downloaded and my Kindle alerted me to this week’s top novels. HO-LY sensory overload, Batman. I was literally confined to the couch covered in a blanket of chargers, controls and cords. You’d think one would be overwhelmed at the thought of keeping up with the 15 programs all streaming information around me. But I wasn’t. You know what really grilled my cheese? That anxious feeling that set in only after I’d decided to “power off”. I lay in bed wondering, “what happened in the last 15 minutes? Did I miss something important? Did someone update their status with something so hilarious that waiting 8 hours to read it will completely throw my morning off?” The more I’m logged in, the more information I have pushed at me, the more flexibility I have to collect information on my own time (however useless it may be), the more peaceful I feel. Crack is out, Whitney. Digital is the new “whack”. At this rate I think I’ll only be able to handle a family if it’s virtual and comes with free updates via my iphone.
I could go on and on about the trivial bumps along my personal road, but I think you get the idea. Plus writing it all out is starting to make me hyperventilate. I take deep breaths and repeat, “I’m 20-something and perfectly content with my life at 3G speed, most of the time”. And even if one day my lonely power strip shorts out and I am left alone, in the dark, with no beeps, badges, push notifications, alerts and messages to remind me of the 30 million things that need my attention, at least I’ll have my cheaper chicken.
