Liz Furl | On 07, Nov 2014
Welcome to your twenties.
Chances are you’re anxious and directionless, resumes in hand, and have an OkCupid profile newly minted. Because that’s what your twenties are for – you get a job, you get engaged, and that’s about when you close in on thirty, both lessons aptly learned and executed.
If, that is, you think your twenties exist only to lead you down the aisle and into the boardroom. However, before you pick out a power suit and wedding gown, consider some avenues other than the Big Two.
Consider that – maybe – there are things in your twenties worth learning that don’t involve work, dating or a combination of the two. Once you’ve cleared that hurdle, keep reading.
In your twenties, you learn how to be alone.
When my husband was just my boyfriend, I moved into his house and soon learned that he liked to take late night walks to clear his head and explore the neighborhood. I hated it – I couldn’t sleep much while he was gone, and what sleep I got was fitful. But I knew this was how he decompressed, so I told myself I could do it, I could conquer the fear, and be alone.
I don’t know how many walks it took until I was able to fall asleep, or how many until I began to enjoy the time to myself, but eventually, I was there, watching silly movies my then-boyfriend would hate, catching up on my reading with a cat on my lap, drinking wine that lulled me to sleep and dreams.
And it was different than living by myself – in that situation, you have no choice; alone is the default.
But when I chose to be alone, to embrace my thoughts instead of depending on the distraction of company, I got right with myself, and found a source of comfort I never had before.In your twenties, you redefine friendship.
I recently went through an enormous Facebook purge. I used to have somewhere in the vicinity of 800 ‘friends,’ and now I have 108 (and even that feels a bit high).
Some of the eliminated 700 had wronged me, but certainly not all. Some were perfectly lovely acquaintances that I knew I would never see or speak to again. My ex-boyfriend’s roommates? Gone, even though I had counseled them on girls for years. My high school theater pals? Adios – they went their way and I went mine. My old party crew? Holding your hair back does not a friendship make.
But I did keep my ex-friends ex-girlfriend because she’s an amazing, hilarious writer who I hope to know better. I kept my husband’s friend from the Midwest who RSVP’d to our wedding the night we got engaged (two years before I ever met him in person). And I kept the girl I haven’t seen since elementary school whose posts always keep my cynicism in check.
I keep in touch with these 108 as much as I can, and real relationships have emerged as a result. Because I had the courage to trim the fat, I’ve learned to give my full attention to the people that nourish me.
In your twenties, you learn how to be broke.
Once upon a time, I lived in a third-floor attic apartment that cost $500 a month with everything included: heat, hot water, electricity, cockroaches, bats…
The stove was too small to cook with, and there was a hole in the bathroom wall that my cat repeatedly tried to escape through until I patched it up with a cardboard box, promising her that it didn’t lead to Narnia.
I bought extra large subs to squeeze as many meals into those eight dollars as possible, and called AAA a few times because I figured I could drive with my gas light on for just one more trip.
But I always made time on my days off to snuggle up in my sweats in bed, cat across my legs and magazine or book on my chest, often eating Doritos and cake because my metabolism was still keeping pace with Flo Jo. And those were some of the cheapest and most contented nights I had as a single girl.
In your twenties, you develop personal taste and style.
After my second major break-up, I couldn’t stand to look at anything that reminded me of him, or, more importantly, of who I was when I had been with him. So I threw it all away – the cards, the mix CDs, even the clothes that felt imbued with the type of person who would date him. I had always dressed like sex, even before him, but after this break-up, I couldn’t look at a single push-up bra or mini skirt without disgust.
I threw everything even mildly offensive into garbage bags, dropped them at Good Will, and, unsurprisingly, was left with little to wear. But, for the first time in my adult life, I had the freedom to choose who I wanted to be, what kind of woman I wanted to look like.
One Saturday, I drove to the outlet mall and made a point of at least ducking into every store, trying on everything that caught my eye. I asked myself, “Does this feel like who I am?” but that concept was still out of reach.
I settled for “Does this feel like who I want to be?”
When I left with more uncertainty than articles of clothing, I certainly didn’t know exactly who I was yet, or what my style would become, but I was beginning to get an idea. Two years, and several purchases later, I feel like I’m finally there.
In your twenties, you learn how to properly feed yourself.
It took me 24 years to decide to make real meals, mainly because I had quit waitressing. I went from dinner-to-go every night to a 9-5 office job, an empty fridge, and no cooking skills to speak of.
From my call-center desk, I turned to Google, printing out recipes for Bloody Mary roast beef, pork loin with apples and sage, gnocchi with prosciutto and arugula. I fretted over multiple stove burners for months, until my syncopated scurrying turned into a beat I could easily follow.
Dinner then became An Event, complete with photos of my masterpieces on Facebook and Instagram. I captioned them “Dinner,” and humbly accepted comments of praise, but I was most proud of the unfiltered taste of accomplishment.
In your twenties, you learn how to appreciate the art of drinking.
At 26, my favorite beer costs $12 for a six-pack, my go-to bar drink is a gin and tonic, and I know exactly how many of them I can have before I tip over the edge. The last shot I took was at my bachelorette party, and, while I do love my cocktail hours, my days of showing up to work with a hangover are long gone.
Guess the party’s over. . .but only because I’ve left them in my past and moved on to the dimly lit bar down the street, where I can hug the owner, chat with the bartenders, and know I’ll have nothing to wake up and regret tomorrow.
Most of all, in your twenties, you learn what you really want.
When we walk away from college, products of our environment rather than our choices, we’re barely more than an unsteady hand over a blank sheet of paper – technically skilled, but incapable of determining what to do with our accomplishments. We feel closer to ten years old than we do to thirty, but know someday we’ll arrive there, an Adult With It All Figured Out.
At that moment, newly shoved out from under the tent of college, parental support and well-documented prerequisites for success, we all stumble, try to orient ourselves, and squint into the unshielded sun as it rises over the place where the pre-paved road ends.
From here, the promises that lie on the horizon are nothing but oases we have no idea how to reach. Thankfully, we have our twenties to figure it out.
(Feature Photo via Tumblr)