The Ashcan

Navel gazing, and other fine life pursuits

Posted on 11. Jun, 2010 by jessekg in Curiosities, modern relationships

Believe it or not, I write a relationship column for a magazine whose readers I imagine to be very wealthy, middle aged men and women. I am not linking to it here though because I assume that if you are reading this, you are either a friend, a relation, and most definitely not uber wealthy. I myself am an under-employed journalist, a profession that has been noted for being the equivalent to taking a vow of poverty in the pursuit of seeing your name in print (it really is all about the byline).

Every time my deadline comes up for this relationship column, which I guess I am qualified to write for because I am indeed in a relationship, I struggle with finding a way I could possibly relate to these readers and their own relationships (options: so we were out buying diamonds the other day, and all of a sudden my wife looks at me and says “darling, I know their twice as much, but they’re Canadian”; or, what to do when your wife and mistress(es) meet; or, the struggles of being filthy rich in a world that is so filthy poor). And of course, leaving it to the last minute, which is what deadlines or for, after all, I recently fired off something that made sense to me and the thing I am most consumed with in my life and relationship right now – namely, a quarter life crisis (or third life, depending on how long you live). Of course it was rejected for the very simple reason that it didn’t in anyway whatsoever relate to the intended audience, which is apparently the job of any good columnist. Not being much of a navel gazer myself (unless you mean literally staring at the one above, which I could do all day long), I didn’t want to waste it, so here it is, with some additional notes as to why it was so inappropriate. Besides of course just being rambling fluff with no flow.

Somebody famous once said 30 that is the new 20. Actually, I’m sure more than one person has said that, but to me that quote belongs to rapper/millionaire/entrepreneur Jay-Z, around 37 at the time. It was a lyric to his song, 30 Something, and it was followed by a million reasons why Jay was better than me, and everyone else on the planet, partly because he had already accomplished a lifetime of accolades and, in the process, became a self-made millionaire. Jay’s life and my own could not be any more different, yet somehow the sentiment of this statement was not lost on my wife and I as we celebrated her 30^th birthday with a dozen friends at a small, unassuming restaurant in Toronto’s west end. For Jay, 30 was the new 20 because he felt so young and full of the energy of his success; for us, 30 is the new 20 because, well, if it’s not, then we are seriously behind.

Editor’s note: This was the first mistake. Not only would the readers probably have no idea who Jay-Z is, but even if their interest was piqued by me saying he was a millionaire entrepreneur, it definitely plummeted when the following sentence hinted at my poverty. Plus, come on, an unassuming restaurant, likely with mains under $30? Forget it.

At 30 we have finally paid off our school debts, accumulated at an alarming rate in our 20’s by spending far more time and money on libations than on our liberal arts degrees, and you could also say that we are both freshmen when it comes to careers, due to spending a gap year (or five) after school traveling around and procrastinating on the inevitable. At 30 we are just settling into our roles as adults, something our parents would have done at just the ripe age of 20, which according to today’s standards, is technically the new 10 (were there no child labour laws back then?)

This could also be the reason why the average age that couples get married today is 34 for men, 32 for women – we are too busy extending our teenage years for another decade. Which brings me to why I even mentioned Jay’s quote in the first place. If 30 is the new 20, and 20 used to be the age where everyone just got jobs, got to having kids, got on with growing up and in general just got old, I should really have no problem doing all that with an extra 10 years of prep under my belt, so why do I?

Editor’s note: This is the point where readers would have turned the page and mumbled, “no shit.” It’s also the point where, because of a 500 word count, I decided to completely quit that train of thought and wrap it up as quick as possible).

My wife at least has a better grasp in the idea of adulthood, and shows it by gladly talking about baby names, window shopping baby clothes and almost causing accidents when we’re driving as she points out actual babies (especially ones that have the same colour of hair as either her or me). I gladly indulge, and realize that yes, some day, probably soon, this will be my reality, but right now I’m still obsessed with talking about names of places we haven’t been yet (places unsafe for babies, mind you), posting things on Craigslist and Kijiji that otherwise just clutter our apartment (she calls that nesting), and generally trying to keep the car on the road as we veer uncomfortably close to the curb passing yet another fair-haired new born in a stroller.

This could all just be a guy thing though, this drive to remain immature and ready to go on an adventure with just a day’s notice or less for as long as there is hair on my head, which, let’s face it, isn’t all that long (Editor’s note: this was just a joke. My hair is glorious, I just LIKE to wear hats, and not because my thick hair sticking out the back implies that it’s thick all over. You’re just going to have to trust me on this one).

Of course I will inevitably be dragged into adulthood, and once that happens I will be glad to come to terms with it, but with all this extra childhood experience behind me, all it’s done is given me more time to think that this is how life should be lived. I mean, every September, even though I haven’t been in school for years, my mind tells me since summer is over, it’s time for a change. If I listened to it every time, I wouldn’t hold a single job for more than a year. As it stands, a year-and-a-half is my record so far, and that last half year felt more like a decade. But maybe this is how my generation is destined to live out our lives: our learned ADD causing us to bounce from job to job after we get bored with the last one; having kids, yes, but with full knowledge that provincial funding exists for university, so never actually saving any money for them; and always struggling with the pointless and existential crisis of trying to figure out what the hell we’re supposed to do with our lives.

As I’ve heard from people much older than me, all this changes when you have kids. In one sense, I hope this is true, but in another sense, for the next 10 years I will be waiting for the time when 40 becomes the new 20, because I could seriously use another 10 years to figure this all out.

Tags: growing up is for olds, navel gazing, quarter life crisis