The Ramblings of a Mad Woman in Her Twenties
Zoe Constantinidis
Every year around my birthday, I dump an overwhelming amount of information via email on my favorite college professor. It started as a simple enough gesture of good faith, a trial on my part to practice reaching out –a skill at which I struggle profusely– however, it has since turned into a yearly moment of reflection often written in sporadic bursts of inspiration at two in the morning.
One such burst was on the eve of the anniversary of losing my first grown-up job. I had become struck with a sudden sadness at myself for my situation and anger at the world for its complete and blatant ridiculousness, and the only person with whom I thought it appropriate to share my experience was a man I had not physically seen in two years.
This is that (updated and edited to sound far more eloquent) email.
Dear Andrew,
It has been just about a year since I lost my job and emailed you with something resembling hope for the future. But, with another birthday passed and another year of experiences lived, I have…nothing. Well, not exactly nothing I’ve worked part-time in between, but nothing in terms of intriguing, inspiring, career-forwarding work.
I have tried everything I can think of: applied through job portals, emailed hiring managers, networked with people (albeit poorly), sent my resume out cold, cold called, cold emailed, cold LinkedIn, the only cold I have not done is just showing up and demanding a job on the spot, although, in my current state of mind I’m not far from it. To add insult to an already festering injury, the fact that I am only 23 seems to confirm to everybody else that I am too young to be as anxious as I am.
“You’re so young! You’ll be fine.”
“23? It will all work out!”
“At your age, you can pivot any time you want.”
“God works in mysterious ways.”
I have found none of this to be true. I am not fine. It does not seem to be working out, every time I try pivoting I find myself face-to-face with a firmly locked door, and I have found God to be not only mysterious but ephemerous as well.
At the peak of my own Inferno I had finished a YA fantasy trilogy, bawled my eyes out over a fictional animal aging, then proceeded to book a plane ticket home for three weeks to hug my dog.
Has it always felt this impossible being young? I used to have so much fun, I had no responsibilities, free will, and a meal on the table every night. Now, all I want to do is skip forward ten years to when I have a salary and a bigger apartment. Maybe a cat too.
I feel as if peace and serenity are being kept behind a brick wall and the only tool I have to break through is a plastic spoon.
Why does everyone else seem to have it figured out? Did I miss a class on adulthood? Was there a book I was supposed to read, maybe a lecture that I never signed up for? Bills, rent, debt, work, buying food, cooking that food before it rots in my fridge, it's all so new to me and I don’t know how to balance it all. I realized last night I was going to have to pay a Wi-Fi bill for the rest of my life and nearly cried.
I think what it all comes down to is that I have always had the answers. Since high school, I have known exactly what I wanted to do. I knew what school I was going to attend, I knew what major I was going to study, I knew what internships I wanted to get, and I had a path that would lead me, by the time I was thirty, to fame and prosperity. Not to say that my path was not rocky (we both know how susceptible I am to potholes), but I still had a path.
Now I wonder aimlessly in a desert. I thought I knew what I wanted, but the more I worked toward my goal the more I hated where I was. I don’t know what I want to do, I have already gone through college, and I have spent the past six years fighting for a life that, as it turns out, I do not want. Where the fuck do I go from here?
It is not all bad though. I find escape through writing. When it starts to feel too overwhelming I explode onto the page and leave feeling much lighter.
I hope I don’t come off like I’m complaining (although, if I’m being honest that is exactly what I am doing). Maybe I am looking for some sage piece of wisdom that will change the course of my life, or maybe, I just need to word vomit to someone, and therapy is not until Monday. In any case, I hope everything is going well with you and that the new semester has started smoothly. I often see groups of new students at the cafe I frequent in the East Village, and I eavesdrop on their conversations about classes and the futures they want. I envy their naivety. Damn, I sound like quite the begrudged old maid. I’ve been reading Dracula, so I blame the gothicness on Bram Stoker.
I know you always do, but treat the students with kindness and push them to create work that brings them joy, or at the least sparks that little bulb of intrigue at the back of their minds. Outside of my writing, which I try to do as often as I can, I have not had a lot of time to bring myself joy or intrigue since graduating. (Jesus, I sound quite sad. I promise I’m doing alright! I am just currently flooded with frustration at many an HR department).
This whole saga to say, if you have any advice for me, or even if you have the time to meet for a few minutes over coffee to chat, I would greatly appreciate it.
Thank you for many things,
Zoe