#50 Everything is exhausting!
millennial ennui in "Really Good, Actually", the joyride of your late 20s and 30s, Taylor Tomlinson
Let me preface this by saying that although I am not a 29-year-old divorceé, her manic denial and overwhelming commitment to Adult Hobbies for 80% of Really Good, Actually, really hit in a specifically stabbing way.
And so to get on with it—
I’ve been on a reading bender! I feel so superior to myself last year, and even though I still scroll on Instagram and devotedly ignore most of my “you’ve spent your time limit today” pop-ups to extend the limit “continue” instead of a 15-minute add-on to my time limit, I’ve also read 3 books in quick succession the past month and a half(?) so, HA! You can’t fucking catch me.
My last newsletter was very poetic and touched by Patti Smith’s pen; at the time, I was reading the beautiful, poetic, and enviously sharp, concise Just Kids, a memoir equal parts inspiring and devastating. I spent a weeknight last week (not sure which one) deep in Robert Mappelthorpe’s work, tired of reading about it, with a strong desire to see what the fuss was about. Well, I get the fuss now.
Today’s newsletter is more a part reflection/review of one to two books I’ve read in between, Good Material by the world’s agony aunt, Dolly Alderton, and Really Good, Actually by Monica Heisey, writer of Schitt’s Creek and Working Moms and other really cool, witty series on TV.
Coincidentally — and without knowing it — I snatched both copies at the American Book Center sometime in late January, reflecting the innermost thoughts and feelings after a devastating breakup, one from the male perspective, a flailing comedian (Good Material's Andy), another from the female gaze, a woman with an obscure PhD resigned to leaving a love that both had fallen out of (Really Good, Actually’s Maggie). They both go through what I am now calling the Hero’s journey. Coincidentally, I also call George and I’s life that, currently. We are somewhere in the challenges and temptations section, or perhaps turning the corner to the death and rebirth part of this cycle.
In the context of the two books I just read, this is GREAT news. I tell you this because, as Andy and Maggie go through the stages of grief that only heartbreak can drown you in the depths of — better than death but definitely worse than most other ruptures in our human relationships — they go through the cycles of self-improvement, gym obsessions, binge drinking, rebound sex that is the canon event of recovery from the depths of Hell.
How does this relate to our lives, especially when we’re not the people who have just gotten divorced or gotten dumped after 5+ years with our partner? Well, we, too, flounder. We, too, have our weakest moments; those blips of time when the inconveniences we’re navigating, completely out of our control, take over our lives and make us a little delusional. And maybe a tad self-centered.
In these books, both heroes go through cycles of deep defeat and misery, and their relationships suffer as a result — Andy doesn’t know how to connect to his male friends, because it’s a bit hard to talk about their feelings (masculinity is a prison, we must free them) — Maggie has many big feelings, and wants to self-improve her way (drink, rebound, date, you get the idea) into overcoming the throes of grief that divorce has her in. Neither situation is ideal, but what it is, is very human and messy and wallow-y. Maybe too wallow-y for my liking, but it’s real.
It’s weird, because I think being 27 now doesn’t mean this period has been easier than the last time I was here, at 23, but it does mean I’ve learned to cope with it better. Although my breakup event is the job situation, the existentialism and heartbreak of not knowing what the next step is feels a bit dire; not knowing whether it’s a difficult job market, or maybe, it just isn’t the right time to start something new, is also confusing.
Either way, not an ideal situation to be in when you’re a proud late-20-something who’s always had a job. I now find myself two weeks out from visiting my family in Venezuela, signed on for a two-month period of… what, exactly? We don’t know. But I am in my Hero’s journey, so I should be rounding up the corner called THE ABYSS and I’ll be staring into it — it’ll be staring right back.
What do I do when I have no control over external, life-defining circumstances? I can be a lot like Maggie and Andy. I go to spin class and devote myself to the self-improvement tirades at Rocycle, Mitchell making me feel literally nauseous because his intensity level is a bit insane and unhinged (Meagan loves his classes, but she also does CrossFit, so, you know, she’s part cyborg).
I go to the corner restaurant with the 1.5 euros cappuccinos before 11 AM. I sell things I don’t need on Vinted (get on it, it will SET YOU FREE, BABE!!!!) I write these newsletters from different locations; the public (Free!) library, the kitchen table, my bed (currently).
I get a glass of wine with George, who is on a (two? three?) month journey by now, seeking his next home; he’s currently staying with a previous flatmate and her girlfriend in Utrecht. “Mothers,” he calls them affectionately, or “The Girls”. We commiserate over our joint efforts to sort out aspects of our life that feel key to our well-being without going insane.
I go to hot yoga class begrudgingly, noticing that I need to breathe into my core and my internal organs and also melt my spine forward and keep my pelvis tucked in and also touch my toes while microbending my knees if that’s what’s available to me today.
I read Patti Smith’s best-selling memoir and think maybe I, too, have been born with a Blue North star, which is to say I should keep working at my art, even if it sounds mildly pretentious and insufferable. Patti didn’t think she was insufferable! She didn’t know any other way to live.
These moments are singular, universal experiences; in the micro, the career shift or the career questioning, whichever comes first; in the macro, a wave of layoffs, restructurings, and recession(s) post-pandemic that have knocked even the giant, endless tech money companies to their knees. I avidly network when I finally understand that it’s not about hard selling but about taking some coffee and sharing where you come from, what you’re looking for, what you love. There is no way I would say I love networking but I don’t hate it anymore, so that's a massive improvement.
In the meantime, things keep happening: I remind myself that a moment of reckoning in the later part of my 20s was going to come at some point. Surely, you cannot outrun the lesson that I’ve been outrunning since forever; external validation is no sustainable fuel to self-worth. And I do love myself, but sometimes that love also comes from other people telling you they love your work, your output, whatever you want to call it. And you didn’t think you were going to get away with it forever, did you? Better to be confronted now before the lake freezes over and you’re thirty and it’s SET IN, like Taylor Tomlinson says. Winter IS coming. Addressing this type of messy shit is EXACTLY the type of thing that happens in this decade.
This is the funny thing though, isn’t it? You think as you get older, you get immediately wiser — no you don’t — you just get better at dealing with the tumbles and the roughhouse roulette that is life sometimes. I barely turned 27 three months ago and apparently, Saturn has been fucking up my shit real bad since before that, and will continue to do that, until I’m 31 (or something like that). For those of you unaware, Saturn is the cosmos’ Big Papa who teaches you lessons, one way or another, that set you up into the new best decade ever, your 30s. Yes, that’s what astrology says. You can take it up with them.
For now, I am actually perfectly content with the space I’ve arrived in since I bought my airplane tickets last week: I have not given up, I’ve surrendered, which might look similar but are entirely different things. I have not stopped trying; in fact, I’ve tried my best, after more than 7 months of applications and about a year altogether of seeking new horizons. So much of this shift is simply telling yourself you’ve done the best you can and believing it, with your full chest, and sometimes you only get there after you’ve been squeezing yourself like a lemon a bit too hard and you have a panic attack at the library (did you know panic attacks aren’t what they sound like, but more like “It's getting hot in here and the air is kind of stale, I'm dizzy and I wanna lay down”? I always thought they were like in the movies, but there are different kinds. This new information is valuable. I am connecting to my body more in response. Wild).
I’m okay, I think! Maggie and Andy remind me that you think you’ve sorted out a few things — a relationship, or a job, or a place — and there it goes; fantastically falling apart so you can figure things out again, over and over, because you changed or they changed or everything changed, and it’s time to try something new.
After my book binge, I do know this: the heroes in these journeys are all navigating constant reinvention. Life is a CONSTANT carousel ride and you’re getting on, and off, and on, and off, and the ride is ALWAYS changing. My attempts to figure out the ride have so far, been useless. I have developed a certain self-awareness to know when I am grasping for control, and when I need to let go. And then this was probably part of the Hero’s journey where I understand that bit again: you get to decide how you’re learning about yourself, whether that’s through white-knuckling it at the proverbial library or by giving yourself grace, buying your favorite childhood snacks, and watching The Office until Netflix asks you if you’re still there. Have a good cry. You know, standard.
Human life is fascinating, and we’re in Exciting Times; I am part of a coveted, highly privileged group of young adults who look up “millennial ennui” and doubt the institution of marriage, and stupid shit like that really, REALLY doesn't matter. Except that it does, because in your ability to cope with life, you’ll find the way you’ll start contributing to the world in a way that matters. You cannot pour from an empty cup, they say. They’re annoyingly right.
So… pour into your cup! I will be pouring into mine, mind you! I'll post it all over the internet (or maybe I will overcome this compulsion). I am no longer an unemployed existential girlie but a funemployed woman seeking the next Great Perhaps. Something gives in really nicely when you decide to roll with the punches, have a good cry, and say it is what it is. Surrender feels delicious when you give yourself permission to accept you’ve done everything you could.
I hope I try this again sometime, sooner than how long it took me this time around! God knows it’ll come. The joyride never stops! But neither do I!
Love ya, happy Sunday xxxx
