Admittedly my last post kind of sucked. I’m trying to create this blog as authentically as I can, with little editing and absolutely no shame in posting, and in that promise I’ve made to myself, I’m committed to posting every article penned, regardless of voice, content and length. This is sort of my chronicling of an era, and acts as a social experiment simultaneously, so I’m keeping the good, the bad, and the ugly.
I can never write when I make myself. I can only really write when I feel the words sitting inside my head arranging themselves without my permission and begging my fingers to type them into permanence.
I’ll be in the shower lathering, or in a meeting taking fake notes on my Macbook pro and SUDDENLY, and annoyingly, the writer inside my head decides its time for typed out therapy.
Maybe it’s because I haven’t really settled into singlehood that I’ve had such writer’s block. Stuck in this post-breakup purgatory, I have, for three weeks now, considered real-life on pause and considered my current state one of non-existence.
And it’s not because I simply cannot bear life without my ex. At first that was my Shakespearian viewpoint, and though it lasted a longgg 48 hours, that romanticized agony was luckily fleeting.
It’s more because this breakup has been the catalyst of so much other change in my life that I simply cannot process it all at once and thus, have avoided reality altogether.
Eating? Na. Sleep? Good one. Partying? Well, of course.
I’ve certainly had an interesting few weeks, and I’ve definitely settled into this new single lifestyle. New York just looks better through drunk googles and a cloud of cigarette smoke.
Anyway, I need to fall into reality now because this IS reality now. And don’t get me wrong, through the shocking transition into being alone and the devastating realization that no, we will not get married and have two children and retire in California, or whatever bullshit my family fed me and my ex allowed me to actively concoct each day, I’ve had a lot of fun.
Two notches onto my belt- both clocking in at an average of a decade older than me- and an increased focus on myself and I’m already aware this is the best damn thing that’s ever happened to me. It’s just, I’m still sort of confused..
As I said, this breakup has caused me to look at NY, and at my life in an entirely new way, and provided for the real shock to my system that is being a young twenty-something living in NY.
When I was in a relationship I went home each night to Facetime, went to Hudson on the weekends, and avoided going out almost altogether because my self-control was weak and my desire to meet guys was kind of low.
Now that there’s a whole fucking city of them buying me bottles of Sauv Blanc and finding my G-spot in well under 30 seconds, (shout-out to Dr. Bae) I see that being single in New York and I are going to get along just fine.
With all of this newfound independence, confidence and life I have, I am hoping to find out who I am. In college I was the broadcast journalism student with the boyfriend. And for the first six months of living here I was the girl struggling to find a job, and ferociously texting her long-distance boyfriend how much she misses him. Now that that girl has found a job, and a killer one at that, and now that there’s no boyfriend to text, my identity as that girl is good as gone, and my new one is, well, TBD.