The Ramblings of A Muse

“I think most of us are raised with preconceived notions of the choices we’re supposed to make. We waste so much time making decisions based on someone else’s idea of our happiness, what will make you a good citizen or a good wife or daughter or actress. Nobody says, ‘Just be happy, go be a cobbler or go live with goats.’” – Sandra Bullock

I’ve been trying to narrow down the pool of potential thoughts to expand upon to something less than excessive for a while now.  I stumbled upon this quote a moment ago and felt it pretty much summed up the common denominator of most of my thoughts lately.  No, I haven’t been thinking “Gosh, my parents raised me with preconceived notions”.

I was raised by God fearing, honest, conservative, and overall idyllic parents.  I was disciplined, not spoiled, taught manners and morality and grew up loving both them and the God they served with every waking (and probably sleeping) moment.  My parents were supportive and understanding without being pushovers.  I’m well aware that I wasn’t the easiest teenager to deal with, but still they did nothing but love.  That said, they did manage to do what I think all parents do – they pre-programmed me with a set of ideals and expectations that life as of this moment has not lived up to.

When I was sixteen, I thought I’d be married by 22, 23 at the latest and have kids by 25.  I figured I’d be with one man, one perfect catch who my parents would love and my closest friends would envy.  I thought I wouldn’t have to worry about careers or anything silly like that because I’d stay at home with the family and love every moment of every Pleasantville day.  There’d be God, love, family, and nothing to regret because I couldn’t even imagine doing anything that was morally corrupt or socially unacceptable.

Then I did.  Both.

And then I did again.

And what happened was eight years of self-flogging because I hadn’t lived up to a reality that didn’t even exist except in my mind.  Was it really something I expect of myself because that’s who I was, or was it something my family and my surroundings dictated that I want and have?  At 25, relatively single (in the sense of not being married), and childless (which, at this point is unquestionably a good thing) I feel with every engagement announcement and baby shower an overwhelming sense of sadness.  Maybe it’s me, or maybe it’s the software, but I am finding one thing for sure – I’m not alone.

It seems to me that anyone in my generation who once desired these things and who hasn’t accomplished them by their mid to late twenties does something that we used to only expect from the older, divorced, and balding crowd.  We fracture.  We crack.  We break down ever so slightly and watch in helpless wonder as that which we once held dear in hopes passes by unrealized with each turn of the calendar year.  We have a mid-twenties crisis.  How sad, really, that this sort of expectation should even exist as anything more than a “that’d be nice”, but when raised in a Biblical family with parents who were united at 20 and are still married 31 years later and counting – it’s a hard expectation to not live up to, and still not feel inadequate for doing so.

For me, this realization has come in seasons.  There’s been the supremely unattractive “I’m not married OMG WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME?!” phase.  There was the “God, why do you hate me?” phase which was quickly followed by the “I hate you God” phase.  The oh-so-glorious “I’m going to hang onto this guy no matter what even though I know it’s wrong and he’s a liar and untrustworthy and I don’t respect him and can’t imagine us together for one second are you kidding me but he loves me so it’s ok, right?” moment that lasted a few months more than a moment technically, but who’s counting.  And of course, each of these were bookended with either the rational side of me saying “Get over it” or the rebellious side of me saying “Fuck it” but either side being completely unsatisfied with whatever state of single or taken I happened to be in.

Getting to the point where men truely did not matter, and a life with myself and God was just fine with me was a scary point indeed as it was so damn unfamiliar.  Once achieved, it was short lived in its original incarnation, and metamorhpasized to something far more frightening but we don’t need to get into that at the moment.  The point isn’t my own personal wrestle with the subject of men and relationships (so incredibly sick of that word, by the way).  It’s more about the beautiful awfulness that is growing up to a life unscripted.

Whether it’s finding that counterpoint in another person, or scaling the walls of fame, or being a CEO by 30, we all grew up with something of an idol in ourselves.  There’s that illusive Grown Up person that we all picture and then one day turn around to find staring us in the face.  Sometimes we recognize it and, as in my case, sometimes we don’t.  The person staring back at me may hold my mother’s smile, my father’s eyes, and the blood, sweat and tears of love poured out by both upon every particle of my being – but she’s not what I thought she’d be.  Her life isn’t the one I dreamed up, and I’m sometimes unsure if it’s the one God dreamed up either.

Setting aside a preconcieved notion is difficult, but looking back on the years that were, I’m not so sure it’s a bad idea.  Clinging so desperatedly to an idea that simply isn’t means living somewhere other than now.  Now is what we’re given.  Who knows what not yet could hold.  Sounds epic and cliche, but maybe there’s some truth to it.  Still, leaving it there sends my mind into a tail spin – still searching for answers, always looking for a bottom line, and ceaselessly seeking something of a certainty to rest within.

I’m not sure where the story goes from here and I lack anything that doesn’t sound pretentious, however unintentional, to throw in here at the finale of this post.  How about another quote.

“Growing up is never easy.  You hold on to things that were.  You wonder what’s to come.  But that night, I think we knew it was time to let go of what had been, and look ahead to what would be.  Other days.  New days.  Days to come.  The thing is, we didn’t have to hate each other for getting older.  We just had to forgive ourselves…for growing up.”