26

If you've never heard of a quarterlife crisis or are murky on its meaning, it may be useful (and entertaining) to check this out first: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quarter-life_crisis

There is a common misconception that the so-called "quarter-life crisis" happens when a woman turns 25. This is a myth. In my experience, the true crisis starts when a woman hits 26. To most (men) it will seem like a difference of details. One year. Not a big deal. But in the lives of the women I know, it is the most significant shift so far. Congratulations, 25 year-olds, you can rest easy for one additional year.

26, however, is when photos of engagement rings, weddings, and preggo bellies become suddenly (and disturbingly for some of us) dominant on a girl's Facebook NewsFeed. 26 is when your ability to claim that you are still in your "early twenties" is officially over.

The crisis begins at 25 when a woman realizes that her high-school-self imagined her 25-year-old-self would be in a very different place by now. (My high-school-self, for example, earnestly believed that my 25-year-old-self would be married to a handsome and truly fabulous man, would be teaching full time, and would have one - maybe 2 - babies.) The crisis is averted at 25, though, because even though the woman does not have all the things she "thought she wanted" she has realized that grown up life is different than she'd expected and she is still, officially, in her "early twenties" anyway. No cause for panic. Still another year or two before she should be concerned.

But then, one by one, a woman's friends start falling off the cliff and into their decidedly

adult lives. There are weddings. There are babies. There are awesome jobs and interesting vacations. These things have all been happening for years, officially, but the woman was able to justify them in her mind as the "early ones." That friend who got married at 20 was religious... or pregnant... which also explains the babies. But at 26 it no longer seems unreasonable for so many of a woman's friends to be engaged/married/cohabitating/preggo/fabulous. And the issue is really in the sheer ABUNDANCE of bridal shower and baby shower and house warming gifts she is heading to the store to buy. (Respectively, mixing bowls and colorful utensils, a whale of a tub, awesome wine.)

The crisis is fueled when a woman realizes, possibly for the first time, that Hollywood's new talent is all younger than she is. Hottie McHottie Vampire RPattz is - what?!?!? - 23 years old! Zac Efron is 22. Miley Cyrus was born in the 90s for pete's sake! Seriously?? And the one I was the most upset by for reasons I cannot explain - Scarlet Johansson is a full year and a half younger than I am. (Sincere relief washed over my whole body when I read that Zooey Deschanel, who I love and would look like if I could, is 30. Whew!)

Suddenly, the job you have that isn't perfect is just a symptom of everything else in your life that isn't perfect. Suddenly it's no longer okay to date Mr. Right Now because the excuse "I'm not looking for a husband right now" doesn't seem as reasonable as it did at 22. Suddenly the women who are in relationships wonder if those are the right relationships and if there is a proposal on the horizon. The married ones want babies. The ones with babies wonder why they aren't still out partying with their friends and enjoying what's left of their 20s.

This is not an exaggeration at all - I could put a name of a specific person I know with each one of these situations. At 25 two of my friends were waiting for engagement rings in relationships that had last several years already. By 26 they would both be married. At 25 two different friends both began trying for babies. Both succeeded, followed closely by one who had just turned 26 and all had babies by age 27. This has left the rest of my friends in their 26th years with the persistent question, "Did I miss the boat or something?"

I really can't answer that question for anyone but myself. I know that personally, I wasn't as ready for my grown-up life at 22 as I would've claimed I was. I know that the soul searching I did at 25 helped me clarify myself and my priorities by the time I turned 26. I know my mom began dating my dad at 26. I know I'm happy even though most of the things I imagined for myself 10 years ago are not part of the real life I'm living now. Or maybe I'm only thinking about all of this because I've read two chicklit books in a row in the last 2 weeks.

The Circus

Last week I posted many facebook status updates that included words like "packing," "homeless," and "being kicked out of house and home." For this reason I received several concerned messages about whether or not I was moving from my mom's house or if something dramatic had happened. Here is the answer:

Termites took over and needed to be eradicated.

Life Like Fiction

Happiness isn't entertaining. What I mean is that being happy isn't interesting to write about. It doesn't create intrigue or suspense. It doesn't make good TV or movies. No one goes to the theatre to see happy people, they go to see drama and passion and obstacles and action. Unhappy people, or maybe I should say unsatisfied people, are the ones with the excitement, the gossip, the STORIES. People who are unsatisfied have things to write about because every event could be the first stone on a path toward satisfaction. The pursuit of happiness involves a twisted cast of players whose every action and reaction can be analyzed, dissected, observed and written about. Heartache is ever-changing and evolving.

Happiness, on the other hand, is relatively stagnant. It's wonderful and fantastic and beautiful and full of glitter and hearts and roses. It's great and I'm not complaining. But it's also calm and certain and stable. I am currently happy with consistancy. Because of this overall sense of happiness, I don't feel the urge to write about what's going on in my head nearly as much. There is no necessity for "working things out in writing." How many hours can I legitimately spend expressing joy? Answer: Not half as many as I can spend ruminating on situations that confuse or frustrate me. Writers be honest: An ambiguous text message is a much better muse than a sweet one.

So herein lies the problem.

Six or seven months ago I was truly inspired to start a novel. Between my own experiences and those of my book club friends, I had plenty of material to start a novel about modern dating life in a metropolitan (but not exactly centralized) city like San Diego. I used my time almost exclusively to read, write, and "collect ideas" about the difficulties of dating in a time when meeting a potential life partner in an organic way seems less and less likely every year. The characters were fabulous reincarnations of people I know whose statuses ranged from happily married and pregnant to dating like mad. The plan was to write about relationships in all stages and create insightful situations to express the frustrations of trying to find real, lasting happiness.

But then the worst possible thing happened to my plans - I got Plans instead. Dating someone takes all the fun out of writing funny but bitter anecdotes about dating. Suddenly instead of writing about relationships and love and the desire for intimacy, I was curled up with Plans enjoying the honeymoon months of a brand new romance. Writing and even reading have dropped down to minor priorities and the ideas I had about ridiculous pick-up lines, speed dating, wine tastings and meetings for SD Young Professionals were part of a distant memory of plans gone by.

Still, I know it can be done. Happily married people still have successful careers as authors, right? Maybe in a few months the inspiration will spark again. Maybe Plans will do something annoying or we'll pass the honeymoon stage and I'll be able to concentrate on incorporating the story about the home-tattooed, unemployed, divorced, scummy guy who hit on my friend the other day into a relatable narrative describing the Pursuit of Passion in the Big Bad World of Dating.