Sometimes shit happens. Other times, a new job happens. Both incur a level of self evaluation that seems accordant with the quarter life crisis (or is it crises?) of us over dramatic twenty-somethings.
(Donut worry!)
It's almost zeitgeist-y. We're surrounded by various social media platforms that both encourage and facilitate self absorption. You have a problem? The remedy obviously lies within the sanctity of a cryptic, yet totally transparent 140 characters right? Is the fun really happening if it hasn't made the cut on at least one Instagram account? We either publicly voice our woes, like the tortured generation that we are, or just enjoy the freedom of youth (i.e get drunk - a lot). Both incite a level of non-commitment.
Why deal with our issues when a Facebook 'like' can send our self-worth sky rocketing? Who needs self reflection when there's shots to be taken? The commonality here is that both are means of avoidance. And that's exactly what I have been doing in taking an extended vacay from this blog.
Rest assured, I haven't become a part-time alcoholic slamming back the tequila or a real life Moaning Myrtle, airing my woes willy-nilly online. Rather my frustrations led me to a laryngitis of creativity if you will. Fashion has always offered me solace but whilst I was clearing tables and picking chewing gum out of coffee cups, it sought as a painful reminder of how far away my dream really was, cementing my status as a self-professed failure.
Since finishing university I have spent my time living life as a check list. Doing things, or feeling bad about not doing things, because I thought that's what people my age were supposed to be doing. And frankly it's been exhausting. Holding myself and my life up to a set of (highly filtered) standards is draining to say the least.
My passion was non-existant. I was deflated and disinterested. The surprise of getting a new job caught me unawares and I was plagued with self-doubt. My time was filled with trying to adjust to office life. 8pm was my new bed time as 5am became my new call time.
Yet eventually, as with all things, the new became the norm and forced routine been the regular. I have learnt that there is actually life before 9.30am and that there are two 6 o'clocks in one day. I now know the meaning of the 'humpday' and the joys of having weekends off.
So far I have learnt to feign dislike for tea to avoid making the office round; to salute everyone but avoid referring to anyone specifically until 100% sure of their name; and to leave my oversized (read, often bra/boob exposing) tops at home. I'm still at the stabiliser stage of 'workwear' as my guidelines were unhelpful at best ("this isn't a fashion show. Wear whatever you want" I was told). Catsuit it is then (!)
However, life is starting to feel more stable, which granted, to some is code for boring but when uncertainty and unfulfillment have taken up long-term residence in my consciousness, become unwelcome bed fellows and the whisperer of woes past, present and future, it comes as a much welcomed respite. Who knew that 9-5 (or more, 7-3) was the answer to my yearnings? I finally feel like I have direction, like the fuzzy mist of those early-twenty's has finally cleared to reveal a surprising path, one that I look forward to not only treading, but living.
(Images via: careergirldaily.com, unknown, kalifornia-klasss.tumblr.com)
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