You know that New York Dolls song "Personality Crisis"? I sing it in my head a lot, autobiographically changing the words to 'existentialist crisis.' The tempo kinda takes the depressive sting out of the meaning. I've been mired in the cliched twentysomething wail: "what does it all mean?" The more I try to find meaning, the more I run into confusion, and hence the crisis. Maybe crisis is too harsh a word. Conundrum is more accurate, but it doesn't go with the song.
Aside from revisiting Camus (The Stranger, while taking a bubble bath) I have been going full speed ahead on this summer's theme: Leave the Damn Apartment, Annie. It's a difficult task sometimes, especially when cooking and ODC (Ol' Dirty Catface) can make every evening lovely. Still, I try to get out and meet people. So far, results are mixed. Last night, leaving the house meant getting a surprise scooter ride from a stranger (yay!). But the night previous left me asthmatic from the louts smoking cigars in the no-smoking section of the cafe. Which led to misanthropic thoughts about people in general, which in turn led me to think that I am a judgmental jerk. Which made me want to stay at home with Ol' Dirty. You see the vicious cycle, don't you?
In general I am happy, but not always content. A friend and I were discussing this while walking down Washington Street today. We've worked and worked to create the lives we have now—apartment, prestigious job, education—and yet "success" doesn't feel as we imagined. I suspect this is a normal feeling for people in their mid-twenties. I try to combat it by being thankful for what I do have (friends, family, an unstoppable sense of style), hoping that gratitude will lead to contentment.
Either gratitude, or a developing Cheerios addiction.
Aside from revisiting Camus (The Stranger, while taking a bubble bath) I have been going full speed ahead on this summer's theme: Leave the Damn Apartment, Annie. It's a difficult task sometimes, especially when cooking and ODC (Ol' Dirty Catface) can make every evening lovely. Still, I try to get out and meet people. So far, results are mixed. Last night, leaving the house meant getting a surprise scooter ride from a stranger (yay!). But the night previous left me asthmatic from the louts smoking cigars in the no-smoking section of the cafe. Which led to misanthropic thoughts about people in general, which in turn led me to think that I am a judgmental jerk. Which made me want to stay at home with Ol' Dirty. You see the vicious cycle, don't you?
In general I am happy, but not always content. A friend and I were discussing this while walking down Washington Street today. We've worked and worked to create the lives we have now—apartment, prestigious job, education—and yet "success" doesn't feel as we imagined. I suspect this is a normal feeling for people in their mid-twenties. I try to combat it by being thankful for what I do have (friends, family, an unstoppable sense of style), hoping that gratitude will lead to contentment.
Either gratitude, or a developing Cheerios addiction.
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