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“You read and write and sing and experience, thinking that one day these things will build the character you admire to live as. You love and lose and bleed best you can, to the extreme, hoping that one day the world will read you like the poem you want to be.” I recently read a blog post by Lucy Huber about Rachel Green, a character from the hit sitcom Friends. The post talked about how although Rachel is the ignorant character reeking of white privilege, she is also the character that many 20-somethings can relate to the most:
"'You're a Rachel,' my boyfriend said. Wait, what? A Rachel?... Rachel is spoiled, she needs help with everything, she once dressed up in her high school cheerleading uniform to impress an old boyfriend at a dinner party. I'd always thought of myself more as a Phoebe: creative, fun-loving, a little weird. But this person I loved who claimed he loved me as well said I was a Rachel?" The post goes on to say that eventually, Lucy decides Rachel is not a terrible character to be. Yeah, she’s been coddled most of her life, sometimes she comes off as pretty stupid, and she has made some pretty terrible messes, but she comes back. She's not afraid to admit what she doesn't know. She bravely leaves her comfortable lifestyle to strike out on her own. I turn 23 tomorrow, and I could not be more terrified. At 22, it's still ok to be a fuck-up. You're finishing college and learning how to stand on your own two feet in the real world. People expect you to wobble a little. 23 though... that's when you're supposed to get it together. My parents were married at age 23. I get anxious when my boyfriend of over a year plans something that's a month away. Some people, I feel like, are meant to be 23. My sister Abigail, for instance. Ever since I was 15 and she was 12, people thought she was older. She has always had this confidence about her, like she knows what she's doing and she believes wholeheartedly that it's the correct way to do it. She's neat, and tidy, and keeps a chore list. I'm barely hygienic some days. Abigail's the kind of person who would climb a mountain in stilettos and no one would question her. She's driven, ambitious, and careful. People trust her and her decisions. I've got drive, but very little ambition, and careful is the antonym of what I stand for. I tend to say things I should keep to myself, have one more drink than I probably should, not sleep enough, eat too much pizza, and curse more than necessary. I have nine piercings and three tattoos. I consider myself a free-spirit and pride myself on my open-mindedness and quickness to laugh at anything and everything. I have a physical therapist's anatomy knowledge because of all the times I have hurt myself. I live hard, and I expect my technology appliances to keep up, which is why I go through them pretty quickly. I should be turning 19, or 20, or 21. Not 23. I've stumbled a lot, and I've embarrassed myself too many times to count. But, still, somehow I've always landed on my feet. Part of it is due to my resilience, part of it is because I have brains, but, honestly, I think most of it is Divine Intervention. When God made people like me, the basket cases who have so much wrong with them and never seem like they can get their shit together, I think He did so for comedic relief. On that note, when my life feels too chaotic, or when I've just messed up for the billionth time, there's a quote by Shauna Niequist I often think about and try to live by: "I want a life that sizzles and pops and makes me laugh out loud. And I don't want to get to the end, or to tomorrow, even, and realize that my life is a collection of meetings and pop cans and errands and receipts and dirty dishes. I want to eat cold tangerines and sing out loud in the car with the windows open and wear pink shoes and stay up all night laughing and paint my walls the exact color of the sky right now. I want to sleep hard on clean white sheets and throw parties and eat ripe tomatoes and read books so good they make me jump up and down, and I want my everyday life to make God belly laugh, glad that he gave life to someone who loves the gift." Sometimes my depression and anxiety creep in, but I love our brilliant Creator, and, God, I do love living. I love spontaneous adventures, and I love staying up all night giggling with my best friends, and I love eating good food, and I love concerts and festivals where you can dance with a million strangers and they all feel like family. I love kickboxing and climbing mountains and feeling strong and indomitable. I love tasting and documenting this beautiful world with my photography and, through that, helping others see that it is holy and that it is (mostly) good. And I love knowing that if there's anyone in the universe who might find my jumbled antics more endearing than annoying, it's my heavenly Father. So I'm scared to be turning 23, because it's the first time I've felt like I can't be the restless, quirky, fun-loving, down-for-anything black sheep that I am. On one hand, I don't want to turn into Peter Pan and constantly be afraid of/run away from responsibility. But on the other hand, I never want to lose this exuberance and childlike wonderment either. I forever want to chase joy with both hands outstretched and keep laughing with my whole soul. I won't ever settle down and live an ordinary life. I guess that's what your 20s are about-- learning how to mesh who you've been, who you are, and who you will become. "So, I guess I am Rachel Green. A [23] year old who still has no idea what she wants to do with her life, still doesn’t understand her health insurance, still can’t seem to get it together, not because I’m unmotivated or lazy or dumb, but because I’m kind of too scared to tackle it all. Because like Rachel and a lot of other twenty-somethings I know, I have no idea what I’m doing. This is all new to me. But like Rachel, I’m going to figure it out." The good news: I've still got seven years to figure it out (although I did buy anti-aging cream this week).
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About the AuthorConfessions of a failed southern lady. I've got messy hair and a thirsty heart. Writer, photographer, career wanderer. Archives
May 2023
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