The Twenty-Something Crisis Aka “I LOVE Manhattan, but…”

Has anyone felt overworked lately?

For Buddhists, the ultimate destination is the spiritual realm of Nirvana. For retirees, the hotspot is the sunshine state of Florida. For twenty-something college graduates, the location of choice is the city fueled by coffee grinds and ambition, New York. But to “be a part of it” may entail more grindstone than glamour, and for idealistic college students determined to hit it big, make a difference and define their life’s direction, it may kill their buzz to realize that crowded subway cars aren’t the only thing standing in their way.

In college, so much of what you do is geared towards your “future,” as though it exists before you as a tangible object that you somehow magically step into at graduation. And for those graduates planning to work in corporate Manhattan, the first item on your “future to-do” list is to find—no, not a job—but rather, a career. The distinction here is that a job is merely what one does to make money. It is, in essence, a means to an end, whereas a career is a lifestyle, an identity. And as many college graduates soon realize when moving to Manhattan, the “9-5” (used very loosely) is not a means to an end. It is in fact, who they have become.

Despite the idealistic moments of fulfilling one’s self purpose or the more grandiose visions of one day sipping champagne on your yacht in the Caribbean, work doesn’t necessarily make your life feel any more meaningful, and you wonder if by the time you own that yacht, you’ll even have the energy to ride it. But then again—is it fair to expect to find your meaning in your work? I mean, isn’t work just that—work? Why is it that so many people my age—myself included—feel like we are entitled to something better?

I blame it on college, and for those of us who attended them; the competitive, top-ranking public and private schools that made us feel that we deserved only the best, that inspired us with idealistic visions of how we could “change the world,” rather than telling us that if we wanted to live on our own, or let’s say, in Manhattan, our idealistic endeavors may have to become more practical and perhaps more “cubicle” too.

And now, while I sit in front of my work computer, practicing “peon”hood, I find myself entertaining fantasies of subletting my apartment for a year and moving to Scotland to sit in cafes all day and live the romantic life of a poor artist, or trekking to Alaska to save the penguins or finally committing myself to yoga and spending a year at an ashram, enduring long periods of meditative silence and eating a vegan diet (yeah, I think I’ve taken Elizabeth Gilbert’s “Eat, Pray, Love” a bit too much to heart).

The “not-even-quarter” life crisis seems to be an all too prevailing trend these days. It’s almost as if you’re not in the loop if you love your job—but hey, not everyone always wants to be “in the loop,” right? What is a loop, after all, but a repetitive stretch of circle!

Maybe I’m just being cynical and could use a change in attitude. Who knows? Perhaps I should feel less entitled and more accepting of my situation?

Or, I could just go and get another cup of coffee.

Yeah, that would solve it.

If The Shoe Doesn’t Fit…

The Cinderella “Foot Fiasco” and Why It’s Time We Learned from it

He’s handsome, intelligent, and you’ve had enough conversations with him to see potential for something bigger on the horizon. Better yet, he’s already friends with all of your friends—including you. The fact that you don’t have that excited rush when you see him doesn’t faze you, at least, not on a conscious level. You want this—at least, something—so badly that you’ve resigned yourself to waiting a few more weeks to see if anything develops.

Your friends tell you that they don’t really envision you with this type of guy, that he’s too awkward for you, that there’s no real connection, and that they just don’t “see it,” but that doesn’t seem to be reason to stop considering him as a possibility. It doesn’t help that all of these friends who give you advice are seeing someone themselves, making you feel like the last single gal in Manhattan when you’re out at night or the seventh wheel in a group of six.

Manhattan is literally teeming with handsome single men, so when is it time to realize that Mr. Perfectly Convenient needs to be a) renamed and b) forgotten?

Fortunately—or not—romantic comedies and “Disney-fied” versions of traditional fairy tales have given women a countless number of ways to envision the way their perfect love will come to fruition. Will he be that tall guy with the brown leather briefcase and large black coffee that I see on the subway platform on my morning commute? (I think a few smiles have been exchanged, either that, or he had a funky lip twitch.) Will it be raining when we confess our feelings to one another, forcing us to take cover into a dark but quaint alley where we’ll make love until dawn, at which point we’ll run carelessly to his place to make chocolate chip pancakes, smear one another with batter, and eat our breakfasts contentedly in front of the fire? Will it involve a glass slipper? A magic carpet? A poisonous apple? An evil sea witch?

In the Grimm Brothers’ version of Cinderella, the evil stepsisters, desperate for their feet to fit into the shoe that the Prince brings their way, turn to self-mutilation in order to make it happen. When the eldest sister places her foot into the slipper and her big toe is making it impossible to fit her foot into the shoe, her mother instructs her to “Cut the toe off, when you are queen you will have no more need to go on foot.” Unfortunately for this stepsister, when she is riding off into the sunset with the Prince, he notices the blood that is trickling from her foot and, realizing that he has taken the wrong bride, brings her back home. The second stepsister doesn’t have much better luck. When her heel is too big for the shoe, she too heeds the advice of her mother: “Cut a bit off your heel, when you are queen you will have no more need to go on foot.” When the Prince is riding away with her, believing he has found his true queen, he notices the blood that is trickling from her shoe and has stained her white stockings. Understanding that he has been duped for a second time, he brings her home. We all know how the story ends, Cinderella’s foot fits perfectly into the slipper and she rides off into the sunset, living, of course, happily ever after. The fact is, if the shoe doesn’t fit, then why, like the stepsisters, are we forcing it? The whole ordeal will only end in pain and frustration, and leave us wondering why we went to such lengths in the first place.

So next time, when you think you’ve met Prince Charming, go ahead and see if the shoe fits. If it doesn’t, don’t be upset when he takes it elsewhere. It just wasn’t meant for your foot, but the next shoe may fit just fine.

Besides, let’s be honest, how practical are glass slippers anyway?