The Next Life Step

It's that magically reminiscent time of year, where Earth makes the magical leap from certain spring into uncertain summer; a leap that makes newly anointed graduates with a Bachelor's degree in the field du jour quiver in their Reefs and ask "what's next?"

That's not a question easily answered, even three years out of college. The only thing that becomes easier to know the older you get is what you'll inevitably be doing Monday morning. But even that question, compounded by the pressures of getting ahead, getting even, and getting hitched, becomes increasingly daunting.

Insert quarter-life crisis metaphor here.

I never thought that I would be one to have a 'life crisis' of sorts. I take back every cliched eye-roll I've thrown at someone who has mentioned a quarter life crisis. Including you, Mr. Mayer.

I'm pretty sure that it's in your mid-twenties that your powers of self reflection and awareness are at their keenest. You begin to realize the inertia of your life. The more you do the more you're expected to do. The more you do something you hate, the more you think you have to get out of it now before you get old and don't have a choice. And that poses a problem.

It's quirky, even favorable, to have a couple of jobs right after you graduate; to float around and see what's a best fit for you. Your parents support you, your friends are still in graduate school so what do they know about the real world and you know, feeding themselves. Then you hit that magical 3 year the-honeymoon-is-over mark. Where you have to shit or get off the pot. You're in a career or you'd better have figured out your ideal career, or what graduate program to throw yourself headfirst into, or you get painted with a flaky brush.

However, the look of horror when you tell the people in your life of a career in flux doesn't even approach the look of horror that flashes across the eyes of a parent who realizes their offspring is 24 and hasn't dated anyone serious since they still had their provisional license.

The wedding invitations come, the save the date cards flood the mailbox, and you realize that the clock is ticking. Not the biological clock; the happily ever after clock. Oh yeah, and there's that "you only have 4 more months to get a date to your best friend's wedding" clock.

That one ticks a little louder than the biological or happily ever after clock.

But here's to a chick that takes a licking and keeps on ticking.