Hezah, 26

I have a good feeling about 2012, a real good feeling. I also have a good feeling about my impending twenty-seventh year. I don’t know why I do this. Every since I was little, I have assigned a positive, negative, or neutral sign to the age I was turning.

For example, I LOVED being five. For whatever reason, I though being five was tits, and when six rolled around I wasn’t having it.  Six was not going to be a knock out year for me, and I could just tell. I remember standing in one of the many daily kindergarten lines, soliciting my thoughts to an unsuspecting friend. I told her I liked being five, and I just didn’t think I was going to do six this year. Unfortunately, here I am at twenty-six.

Aside from growing some boobs and learning to drive, among other things, I don’t think much has changed in twenty years. I still feel like a little kid most of the time. When I sit in most restaurant booths, I crawl in on my knees and my feet barely graze the floor. I always assume everyone is older than me, and I stretch my gum out to the length of my arm. I still eat in front of the TV, sitting on the floor with my back against the couch, only now I’m watching Bravo bullshit instead of Urkel and friends. I love finger foods, elementary school style snacks, and have an inexplicable affinity towards Hello Kitty.

Point being, I’m doing a decent job looking and acting the part, but recently I am just not feeling the real deal. Whenever I have to dress up, I feel like a little girl playing with mommy’s heels and makeup. I feel downright silly out of my typical twelve-year-old garb. Maybe I need to get more method; go live the life of a soccer mom or an executive for a day.

Without even realizing it, I made some pretty significant growth in my career this past month. Today this landed me in a meeting with very upper management. I felt like a big kid; you know, like a sixth grader. It’s Friday today, which means I take the liberty of dressing in exactly the same way I did in college for lectures. As you can imagine, this isn’t the best look for me. I didn’t realize I’d be having this meeting when I put on my t-shirt and disgusting Converse. I even found myself taking notes, and making valid points, whilst sitting “Indian style” in my office chair.

Who am I??

Why can’t I be a grown up in a professional work environment, let alone my every day life? I can’t tell when it will click, that I need sit up straight, wear high heels, and slide ladylike into the diner booth. Maybe it’s just who I am; I’ve got a case of the Lost Boys.

Most likely, I think I will wake up one day and realize that I’ve grown up, become an adult, lost the childlike wonder, forgotten how to imagine, get dirty, or just plain let loose. It will be so slow; I’ll never see it coming. But when it’s gone, I’ll wish I had it back….Maybe.

For now, I’ll hang on to being an overgrown child for as long as can…even in front of the CEO.

(During Hanukkah this year, I lit the candles and said the prayers by myself in my own apartment. I think I was too lazy to make dinner. Doing the holidays, twenty-something style)

Hezah, 26

It’s Christmas Eve, and this Jew just finished eating at one of LA’s newest hot spots with my best friend and her visiting parents. Now I’m home wearing pajamas and watching old movies. In previous years I would be in Las Vegas visiting my family; for years we have all gathered in that shithole of a city to eat, kvetch, and of course make memories. I just couldn’t do it this year.

It was a selfish decision to stay home no matter how hard I try to justify it, but I just wasn’t feeling very cheery this year. I don’t feel particularly depressed either though. I believe they call this apathy.

I’ve been considered an adult for a few years now, but this was the first holiday season I exercised my right to be kind of an asshole for no other reason than it’s what I wanted. Growing up, there is little choice in holiday plans; you are merely a puppet with the strings being controlled by your parents. When you finally get married and start new family traditions, most other family members respect alternative holiday choices, because there is an additional outside member’s traditions and wishes to consider. But what about that period of time when you are no longer your parents’ responsibility, nor a significant other’s? You’re on your own.

It’s very difficult to make holiday plans in this weird interim period of life because you have so many options, and the freedom to make whatever choice you feel is right at the time. But that’s just it; it’s hard to determine the right thing to do. Is it sacrificing your happiness for the sake family or tradition? Or is it doing whatever makes you feel comfortable because you are an adult, because you can, and because it might be the only time in your life you’ll be able to make a decision with only yourself in mind?

Part of me still feels the rebellious teenage adversity towards my family because spending quality time with them is almost always more strife than peace. I still have a little of that juvenile self-involved mentality that I should just do what I want, whether that’s staying home with my cookies or spending time with friends. My more mature sensibilities recognize the importance of family and traditions. I have enough perspective and impulse control to understand that even if it isn’t my first choice, I will be thankful for the time I sacrifice in exchange for stronger relationships with important people.

When I told my mother that I wouldn’t be joining the family this year, she was disappointed. She expressed that she thought it wasn’t the best choice, but I was an adult had to make these decisions for myself. Lately when I ask for her advice on somewhat adult matters, this the response I get. No help.

Every major holiday I am faced with these feelings and decisions. I try to use my best judgment at each of these crossroads. I am comfortable with the fact that I probably didn’t do “the right thing” for Christmas this year, because I am so blissfully content on this couch spending time with myself.

I have so many holiday seasons ahead of me to spend with friends, family, and loved ones, whether it’s out of obligation or not. So this year since it’s just little old me, I’m going to be self-indulgent because who knows when I won’t have responsibilities to anyone other than myself. Better take advantage of this very weird period of my life and do whatever makes me happiest.

Hezah, 26

To preface this, let me just catch you up to speed about one of my best friends, Brandy. She is insanely smart, laid back, fit, independent, gorgeous, has an ass that just won’t quit….oh and she’s a NBA cheerleader. If she’s going to die alone, then we are all fucked.

Brandy, you will absolutely not die alone. This isn’t a prediction just based the aforementioned list of compliments. I say this because you just turned 26 1/2 last week, and you are still so very young.

(Brandy and I on my 23rd birthday. I am pretty sure we’re saying, “Hey life, slow your roll. We’re still young)

We’ve entered a strange twilight zone era of our twenties where all of a sudden, out of nowhere, everyone is getting engaged. I don’t know what it is about your late twenties, but it feels like the shotgun went off and the race to the alter has begun. In all reality, a very minority of people in their mid to late twenties are actually getting married, buying homes, settling down, and *gasp*making babies.

It only feels as though everyone is doing the time warp because we have a constant barrage of people to compare ourselves to via social media outlets. We are even alerted through several mediums every time someone we know acquires a boyfriend, receives a diamond ring, ties the knot, gives birth, grabs the keys to their new home, and is bestowed that coveted promotion.

Here’s the thing, we only hear about the amazing BIG news. Aside from the few overly self-deprecating people you’ve hidden in your news feed, most people don’t tell you about their really hard days. They don’t post a status that they are crying and eating a tub of ice cream watching Lifetime because they feel hopeless, hate their job, wish they’d finished school, never fallen for that person, regret letting someone go, or even feeling bad about the fight with their mom. We just don’t get told that other people have the same rational or irrational fears and insecurities to make us feel a little less alone. Most people don’t have it anywhere near together, and we’re all just floating around in the same sea of uncertainty.

Also, we fixate on what we don’t have. The grass is always greener. Everyone is different, and as such, life paths can come in all shapes and lengths. What’s right for one person isn’t necessarily a truth for others. So Brandy things will happen for you and you won’t die alone, but until someone else makes you truly believe this, here is the love/life advice you asked for:

Stop worrying if he will call you.

Boys are simple. If he wants to see you, he will find a way. If not, move on.

Be forward and ask him out.

Boys are just as afraid of rejection as you. Go after what/who you want.

Realize that you might be very intimidating to boys.

Uhhh…you’re a cheerleader; nothing’s changed since high school. Sorry kiddo, I don’t care how nerdy or oddly obsessed with bad TV you are, you’re considered hot and unattainable.

Embrace this time in your life.

You might meet your husband tomorrow and have the rest of your life to be with him. Enjoy being single and fabulous (drunk) today.

Make career moves.

You don’t have anything or anyone to tie you down. Work late, and forget to eat dinner; get ahead while you can.

Travel.

There’s no one to compromise with on destination plans. Go wherever you want, without worrying about a boy complaining about his fair skin or digestive issues.

Spend your money on shit.

You have no one depending on you, but you. Buy some goddamn shoes.

…and my super cheesy advice,

Don’t be afraid to love.

Even if it isn’t reciprocated, it’s worth the risk to find out.

Don’t be afraid to be loved.

You deserve it. Yeah, YOU.

…and most importantly,

Believe that whatever your path is supposed to be, you’re already on it, and you’re doing everything right. 

(I really do love me a vintage tee.)

Hezah, 26

My previous post on nostalgia spiraled an entire tangential train of thoughts. My closet full of vintage sweaters, drawer stocked with secondhand tees, and walls covered in genuinely hipstimatic filtered photos of my parents made me stop in my tracks. I realized my sense of nostalgia goes much further than reminiscing about old school Nick at Nite reruns.

Twenty-somethings of every generation have been drawn to anything vintage, drawing upon their parent’s youth as inspiration for expression and creativity; this isn’t a novel idea. Our parents’ generation sought fashionable creativity in western wear, a piece of nostalgia from their own childhood growing up idolizing classic Western films. Just as they donned cowboy boots and embossed leather goods reminding them of how the west was really won, there is something special about wearing a bag just like my mother did when she was my age. However, I still question if all our nods to the baby boomer era, which is unarguably one of the richest cultural and artistically explosive times in global history, are truly paying homage or if we’re straight up poaching.

As we make the arduous transition from child to adulthood, so much energy is expended on hate and resentment towards the very people who gave us our angsty little lives. We slam doors, hang up, close our eyes, turn away, cover our ears, and generally reject the only people who could ever still love your miserable hormonal self during and after some of the most retrospectively embarrassing behavior. As our bodies and minds deceived us with change, we in turn betrayed our parents. Unfortunately, it’s a universal fact that you treat the people you love the worst.

Tension must inevitably reach a breaking point, and for many of us that happens in our mid-twenties. Once you reach your mid-twenties, things start to even out a little. Generally speaking, you have a pretty good idea of where your career path is headed (for the time being of course), a place to live, a solid network of friends, hopefully financially independence, and a many of your immature insecurities start falling away. You begin to enter what will be your adult self as you squirm to fit into your own skin. Part of this metamorphosis is letting old grudges go through fits of tears and screams, which results in the birth of a new relationship with your parents. It’s such an interesting period because for the first time your parents are forced to see you as adults, and you start to really grasp the notion that your parents are just people; neither of which are perfect.

I’ve only been on one end of this total relationship revamp, but I can honestly say it’s one of the hardest things I have had to overcome. I can only speak to how it feels to be a child seeing your parents as real flawed people, when you had idolized and depended on them for so many years. Here is where our interest in their nostalgia comes into play.

(But seriously, my parents WERE awesome.)

We aren’t really aware of it fully, but our sudden curiosity in our parents’ mysterious youthful past have less to do with finally hearing all their acid flashbacks, and more to do with trying to find a way to relate to them. Blogs like My Parents Were Awesome and Dad’s Are the Original Hipsters, are perfect exploitations of our growing realization that parents used to be really cool. Styles have come full circle, and the outfits we used to mock and be embarrassed about, now look uncomfortably similar to our monthly delivered Urban Outfitter catalogues. It used to be cool to hate your parents, fuck authority. Now you’re not hip unless you can brag about drinking and smoking pot with them, like they weren’t doing that about thirty years before you.

Once we start to become adults, and realize that family values aren’t just rapper idealism, we begin to recognize the importance of having a mature relationship with our parents. It seems like the only way we can begin to see them as regular old people is to Honey I Shrunk The Parents them back to their twenties. It makes complete sense; the way we relate or don’t relate to people is based on experiences and lifestyles. It’s very difficult for a twenty-five year old to truly find themselves on the same level as a fifty-five year old. So, in order to close the raging generational and life experiential gap, we look to our parents as their former selves: the pot smoking, tight clothes wearing, big haired, drug experimenting, alcohol guzzling, music loving, movie going, reckless, broke, lost, scared, free spirits.

These are the people whose lives we understand and feel an intimate closeness, despite them being forever stuck in another era. So we rummage around old photo albums, start asking about the stories never told, wear their old clothes, listen to their crackling vinyl, run our fingers over the pages of old books and journals, and begin to see our parents as peers. It’s fun to wonder what it would have been like to know them in their youth, and whether or not you would have ran in the same circle of friends. Maybe, but it doesn’t matter because you don’t choose your parents like you do friends, and yet you still have to find a way to love them just the same.

Hezah, 26

How did I get on this marketing list? Just because I live alone doesn’t mean I’m going to die alone. My Dad once told me that the day your turn 25, you start your slow descent into death. Welp…I guess I am overdue.

(Who isn’t nostalgic for 90’s neon?)

Hezah, 26

Recently, I have been thinking a lot about nostalgia, and how we twenty somethings seem to LOVE it. We delight in anything and everything 80’s and 90’s. Reminiscing on childhood pop culture has become first date fodder, drinking games, viral videos, and road trip playlists. What’s the deal? Do we want to keep one toe in the kiddie pool as long as we can? Maybe that makes growing up a little more bearable.

Last night I saw the new and “improved” Muppet movie. I enjoyed every minute of the film, but I was keenly aware that while this was a new adventure for the Muppets, it was fueled by a series of hints at nostalgia and references to prior Muppet escapades and jokes. Could we really not have appreciated The Muppets without all the throwbacks? From the dial-up functioning “80’s Robot” who served only TAB, to Kermit’s inability to conjure a celebrity host whose fame had long since petered out with permed hair, it all felt like a Muppet resuscitation rather than a revival.

A couple months ago, I received an email from Urban Outfitters (no rants, I promise) that was advertising all the pop culture nostalgia they had for sale. The subject line was “Back in the Day,” and it asked me if I wanted to “Shop Throwbacks.” Nothing they promoted was original, vintage, or even old and crusty. These were brand new “vintage inspired” products that were supposed to make us go gaga. Of course it caused me to let out a few mental “oohs,” “ahhs,” and even some “omg, I forgot about that.” However, I didn’t want to buy any of it. But why did I love looking at it, and taking a moment to remember Pac-Man, sliding utility bracelets, and a Kelly Kapowski tee?

I brought the topic to a very wise thirty something Gen-Xer, inquiring if she felt that his was a specifically Gen Y/Millenial obsession or a general twenty-something characteristic. After a long discussion, whilst sitting in the Crate and Barrel showroom (how Gen X), we decided it was a little bit of both. After considering the issue, she explained that her generation had a hard time with nostalgia in their twenties. She clarified that in her twenties, openly liking Belinda Carlisle was considered embarrassing…not cool. Everything they purchased in their twenties needed to be current to be considered acceptable and cool in any circle; vintage was just considered to be “old.” However, as her generation entered their thirties, the coolness factor of their nostalgic youth increased. Contrary to today, contemporary twenty-something girls have no problem rocking old school Britney at any time of the day.

In the midst of our generational conversation set in the yuppiest of settings, it dawned on me why twenty somethings gravitate towards youthful nostalgia. We’re at an interesting age where the distance between childhood and the scarring teen years are far enough away to have perspective, yet still close enough for us to remember how it felt and relate on some level. We covet the television programs, musical acts, and fashion of that time because all the growing up junk has made us lose the ability to recall them at the drop of a hat, but once reminded, we remember every character, episode, lyric, and hypercolored t shirt.

Four years ago, my best friend and I bought tickets the Spice Girls reunion tour because we thought it would be silly and fun. I had vague memories of Spice World, and could maybe hum a tune or two. When we got to the show, I realized that I knew every damn word to their entire catalogue. I was shocked; where the hell had that information been stored all these years? Something else struck me that night; the high volume Staples Center wasn’t filled with little girls, but rather former tweens of yesteryear (late 90’s) going apeshit over some former famous women creeping on middle age.

I wonder when this wave of nostalgia will pass. Perhaps it will be gone when we feel absolutely ready to let childhood go, or the distance from that time in our lives becomes too great. Maybe that doesn’t happen until you have children of your own, or maybe it never goes away at all. The only think I do know is I am probably going to still be singing N’Sync at the top of my lungs in the car with my girlfriends on the way to the bar for a few more years. Oh, and I am still not ready to accept that Lance Bass is, in fact, gay.

Hezah, 26

It’s my half birthday today. I’m now 26 1/2. Remember when there was a very big difference between 6 and 6 1/2? You had to correct people and let them know that you’d really matured in half a year; you were a completely different person than you were a whole six months ago. A lot could have happened within that time, teeth lost, a chapter book completed, a new school year, or even a recital. I still feel like a lot has happened in the past six months, and believe or not, I feel different. I’m WAY more mature…I think. Does that mean I’m not too old to make a big deal and celebrate?

Hezah, 26

Yesterday I got my fifth tattoo, and in conjunction with seeing my family around the holidays, it made me think about tattoos and twenty somethings. It was the least nonchalant I have been about getting a permanent marking my skin. I kept forgetting I even had an appointment, treating it as though it were another errand to run. I think my cavalier attitude is attributed to the fact that I was very certain about this particular branding of my body, and also…this wasn’t my first rodeo.

I had always admired and been intrigued by the body art world, and knew that I would be a part of it someday. My first tattoo landed on my forearm when I was twenty-two years old. A college graduate, this was a well thought out endeavor. I spoke extensively with both my parents and friends, both tattooed and unmarked. My mother suggested that I wait until they had patented an ink that would eventually fade. It was a very “mom” comment, but I told her that the permanence is something that appeals to me; it’s a sense of commitment. I like the idea that I could live with, and be happy to have, something with me for my whole life. But, that’s just me. I don’t think they are for everyone, and I certainly don’t advocate tattoos for the regretful, the fickle, or the indecisive.

Since my first, I have gotten four more, and I understand when people say that tattoos can be addicting. It’s partly the rush and pleasure from the pain. But, I think there is something else to it. Whether you have one tiny dot or a whole sleeve you are labeled as tattooed. Once you have one, what’s one…or two…or three more? If you’re going to be compartmentalized within society, why not just go for it?

My parent’s first reaction (I have visible tattoos) was that I was never going to find a real job looking this way. Here’s the thing, I would never want to work in an environment that discriminated, or wouldn’t tolerate tattooed employees. Thankfully, I don’t happen to work in an industry where tattoos, funky hair, and quirky fashion sense matter. However, I am finding that I’m not an island. There are so many twenty somethings with very visible tattoos popping up, and we’re all getting hired (despite economic shittiness) by REAL companies and bestowed REAL salaries.

Today, young college graduates with big kid jobs are branding themselves with unique art as a form of expression, just as youth have been for years with clothing, hair styles, and taste in music. It’s just becoming increasingly more acceptable to express yourselves with body art as technology grows and young startups are populating major industries. There are no jobs for us in the present economy, so we’re making our own companies with our own rules that follow the mantra, “your appearance does not affect your job performance.”

Aside from it being more socially acceptable, why are all of us twenty somethings really getting tattoos…

Well, we’re all special little snowflakes with creative minds that have been fostered from Mommy and Me to AP classes. We have such a burning need to stand out and be different because as we delve deeper into adulthood we start to realize, we’re all kind of them same. We struggle to salvage whatever individuality is left. God forbid any of us become, ordinary.

Perhaps the commitment to a lifetime of a particular word, phrase, or imagery is alluring in your twenties because it’s such a tumultuous time full of exploration and self-realization. Your life changes on a dime and you’re in a perpetual state of evolution, so sometimes it’s nice to say you know one thing is for certain; you’ll have this forever.

That said, tattoos used to have a completely different connotation and meaning. They used to represent tradition and represented unwavering universal symbolism. It was never the issue that every sailor had the same tattoo because they all carried the same meaning. With that said, tattoos used to also bear a very seedy, dirty connotation that was very present in our parents’ generation. My mother explained that while she enjoyed the meaning and imagery of my tattoos, it was hard for her to get past the fact that she was raised to think of tattooed women in a certain negative light. Understandable.

Whenever I am at a family function, such as this past Thanksgiving, I am always forced to defend my lifestyle choices. I don’t mind really because I know that an older generation is just trying to understand this growing trend that seems unnecessary. Perhaps it’s because they are older, and have a suitcase full of regret, and are just trying to shield us from making the same mistakes. I get that. But, to me it’s just skin; and if a majority of the parents I know are any indication…vanity gets lost in parenthood and responsibility. I know that perhaps at some point in my like I might look at my tattoos and the meaning won’t be the same, but it’s a nice reminder of a specific time in my life and a way to never really lose those very special moments of your twenties you’ll never get back.

(Past)

Hezah, 26

I’ve recently begun to notice many twenty somethings uttering the phrase, “This isn’t where I thought I’d be at 2_.”Apparently their juvenile counterparts had grandiose visions for their older adult selves that don’t quite gel with the reality of present day. Some of us are relieved to find ourselves living a life exceeding our inner child’s expectations, while others are frustrated and disgruntled that they haven’t bought a house, gotten married, had a child, achieved “success”, moved out of their parents’ house, gotten a degree, chosen a career path that makes them happy, traveled the world, released a grudge, or even mended an overdue broken relationship.

I think perhaps the disconnect comes from the shift in perspective from child to adult. When we were younger being in your twenties seemed so far away. If movies like Reality Bites and sitcoms like Friends taught us anything, it was that your twenties were fuggin awesome. It was always portrayed as this magical time where you had an unlimited amount of money, could live in a kick ass apartment with all your best friends, and you could do whatever the hell you wanted. Twenty something life was shown as worry free, love ridden, angsty, drunk, and no one ever really seemed to go to work, but if they did it was obviously a dream job. No wonder, we are all so damn disillusioned.

What’s funny is, whenever I hear someone talk about what they imagined their adult lives to be like, I can’t reach for any memory of my own childhood musings. When I was younger, I never really thought about what my life would be like as an adult. I think I had a very nebulous cloud of an idea of what my life would be like. I am fairly certain the haze of my future included a husband, kids, a home, and a career; however, there were never any details for any of these major life building blocks. I think it’s strange that I didn’t have and concrete ideas of what I wanted from life at a young age. Sometimes, I feel a little excluded and disappointed that I have no childlike wonder benchmarks to compare my current state, even if just for amusement.

This among other things has led me to infer that there are three types of people in this world: The past people, the present people, and the future people.

Some people live in the past; they can’t let things go and are in a constant state of nostalgia. These were the Lost Boys of your youth, resisting puberty like the bubonic plague, never ready for the next phase. In twenty-somethings, these are the people who can’t let college go. They still want to pre-party before going to a bar, the ones who STILL get blacked out drunk on a regular basis, the ones who display their old faded college paraphernalia not on game day, and the ones who still brag about questionable decisions. Now they can’t seem to set whomever they were in their heyday free, and refuse to grow the fuck up and try a little restraint and maturity on for size. Some of these past people even actually go back to school! Law school means you’ll be “safe” for another three years…right….?

The future people are the ones who had the aforementioned life plans laid out in grade school. They are usually worriers, overachievers, and very successful in whatever they choose to do. They constantly have their heads into whatever is the next step, and generally can’t wait to get there so they work that much harder. These were the children that worried about nothing, always got perfect grades, had chosen a Law School at eight years old, couldn’t wait to be a teenager, and really liked playing Life. Now in their twenties, these folks have great careers, financial plans, and if they are in serious relationship they have very detailed agendas for that as well. However, they are still worrying about what’s next, and eager to just get there already.

(Present)

The last type of person is the present person. Being a present person, I know firsthand what a wishy washy free floaty life this can be. We live in the moment, don’t like to make plans, and don’t hold a grudge. In our youth we were ready for adventure, and didn’t really seem to worry about anything past the weekend, and were generally easy going and possibly flaky. As twenty somethings we are impulsive, don’t take life too seriously, have faith in the universe that everything will be ok, don’t live with regret, and are excited about the future even though they have no idea what that means. However, we generally change jobs too often, make in the moment bad decisions, get up and move, engage in bad behavior because it feels good at the time (consequences can be dealt with later), won’t commit to a plan because something better might come up, and live with a c’est la vie attitude that will more often than not bite you in the ass…in the future.

No matter what type of person you are, all three matter. Becoming an adult means finding balance in your life with the past, present, and the future, which is no easy feat. It’s a struggle, but you can’t focus on just one area, but rather, live a little in all three. Obviously that stupid cliched sentiment of, “growing up is never easy” rings very true.

Great, so I know what has happened, I am pretty sure I have an idea of what’s going on now, but where is the oracle to tell me what’s next??

(Future)