I’m 26 and I’ve had like 12 quarter life crises (dating musings in nyc)

Hey girl hey it’s Sunday Funday. As I lay in my bed in the same pair of pajamas I’ve had on since yesterday at about 9:30AM watching Lord of the Rings, two thoughts come to mind:

1. Have I ever really paid attention while watching LOTR?

And 2. Why do I feel like I’m doing nothing with my life?

I woke up this morning and did what most millennials in NYC do: reached for my phone to start scrolling through social media. Immediately I saw that two more of my Facebook friends had gotten engaged. Cute. Why is everyone I know getting married/having children/buying houses/cars/just generally doing things that seem so incredibly out of reach for me right now? AND AM I REALLY GOING TO THROW A BITCH FIT ABOUT THIS RIGHT NOW?

I acknowledge that, no, I wouldn’t actually want to be engaged at this point. I think I have too much that I want to do before I settle down, and am not sure I could do all of them while sharing my life with another person, and not ready to give them up for someone else (been there done that.) But what if I was? What would my life look like? I sometimes (quite often) think about what life would be like if I didn’t live in New York. This city is running on such a different wave length than anywhere else in the world. The only thing anyone aged 22-30 is concerned with here is making money and having the best time they could possibly be having. Or at least making it look that way on social media. It seems that no one has any interest in settling down and starting a life, or for that matter, in anything that holds more significance than surpassing 200 likes on an Instagram post.

I once read that, “We live in the city of of Instant Gratification. When we want something, we get it yesterday.”

Shite LOTR is too loud and I don’t know where my remote control is and now I have to get up and walk to the TV to turn it down.

It’s exhausting sometimes. And a bit stifling too. New York is supposed to be the most exciting city in the world, but sometimes I feel like its inhabitants can be quite uninspired. At least those in their 20s…

It also seems like it’s impossible to meet someone unless you take up a part time job as a professional dating app swiper. I’m sorry, but I simply don’t believe that the dating app method will work for me. I’m comfortable with saying I’m just too high maintenance and complicated. I feel like when I walk into a first date with someone who I’ve swiped right/left/whichever way we’re supposed to swipe to signify that that person is aesthetically pleasing to us, I’m walking in with two very large suitcases. Ah yes, ye olde baggage metaphor.

On Suitcase One, embroidered where a monogram would be, is “SHIT FROM MY PAST.” On it are little patches from my travels. Instead of London or Paris or Hong Kong, there is “abusive relationship” and “eating disorders” and “sexual assault” and “dead mom.” I may ask I can check it at the hostess booth and pick it up at the end of the date, but nonetheless it will stay in the room.

Suitcase Two will come with me to the table/bar, because it’s a bit smaller and easier to maneuver than Number One. I’m not sure what this one is called yet. I’ll think on it while I’ll write. But on this suitcase are patches that say things like “lover of trashy British reality TV” and “likes to read Tolstoy for fun” and “still prefers to hand write her grocery lists” and maybe “has an intense maternal streak and will feed you to show she cares.” They’re all the little, quirky, weird things that make me who I am. And even though I’m able to check the other suitcase at the door, this one I know that I must bring with me. Even if that scares a me a little bit. But then I suppose that’s what dating is, isn’t it? Putting ourselves out there in hopes that we’ll find someone else who enjoys reading mile long Russian novels while “Made in Chelsea” plays quietly in the background? Suitcase two can be called “The Little Things.”

So anyways, I’m 26 years old and here I am having an existential crisis over the fact that I, along with probably 2/3 of young women in this city, am single. I’m not sure why I’ve become so hung up on this idea. When I was 21 I was with someone who I had no doubt in my mind I’d be married to by now. Of course, it all worked out for the best, and I grew to laugh at myself when I thought about laying in that little twin bed in my dorm room planning out my life with a boy who would only a year later become a total stranger to me.

And it is not like I am alone. I have wonderful wonderful friends whom I get to share my highs and lows with. For now, they are my soulmates. I just can’t help but thinking well what if I didn’t live in New York? What if I lived somewhere, well, normal? What would things be like? What kind of job would I have, and would I live in a house, would I be *engaged*? But for now I am here, and I can’t help but wonder… am I wasting my time? Am I wasting my 20s “alone” when I should be out there, giving my heart away to someone for a month, a year, a decade? And will Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir ever admit to us that they’re dating?

(Yes, I’m making fun of myself with this meme.)

I promise there are many other just as weighty reasons I’m feeling like this — money, the “w” word, just the general notion of being stuck — but I can’t stop thinking about why I’ve decided to let being single have anything to do with the feeling of my life lacking direction. *End Sunday Meltdown*

“A wizard is never late… nor is he early; he arrives precisely when he means to.”

– Gandalf