diary of a 20 something

I watched Bridget Jones’ Diary for the first time. I get the sense that it ranges between cult classic or instantly hated– there are a lot of jokes that didn’t age well. The 2001 romantic comedy starring Renée Zellweger is nothing if not problematic.

Bridget, a somewhat cringe-worthy, hot mess of a 32 year-old with a failing love life, a cigarette habit and drinking problem that she can’t seem to kick, starts a diary. A diary to track her progress (or lack thereof) and log her feelings, habits, and escapades.

My friend Elli said it best, “The most embarrassing things I’ve ever done pale in comparison to some of the scenes in this movie”.  And though she’s extremely over the top, with a noticeably fake British accent, I can’t help but relate to her. 

There’s a lot of ways in which we are different, I’m not a chain-smoking, borderline alcoholic looking for love. But I am a woman who is, let’s face it, “pushing 30” now that I’m 26, writing in my red diary, feeling like the clock is running on without me.

I live in this vicious cycle:

Am I where I’m supposed to be in life? What’s my goal for the future?

Stop, you gotta start living in the moment.

Why aren’t you planning for the future? If you don’t take action now, nothing will ever change! Are you sleeping through life?

You like your life, stop stressing.

And back to square one: Am I where I’m supposed to be in life? What’s my goal for the future?

God forbid I enjoy myself. 

The exaggerated conversations throughout the movie, “Tick, Tock, Bridget”, is how I feel all of the time. “Tick Tock, Abigail, your time is running out.”

And I know none of it’s true. In this day and age, you can really do anything, be anything, in your own time. So many of the authors that I love didn’t publish a single thing until they were over 40. But many of them were also living wild lives to collect stories for their writings. In my head, my twenties are the only years I’ll have to explore.

I’m at the age where people’s lives around me look very different from each other. It’s just as normal in your 20s to have a spouse and house as it is to be in school or living with roommates or climbing the career ladder. My mom had both of her children by 26 (**brain exploding thinking about having two children right now**).

And where am I? In the jumble of it all, drowning in aspirations. Climbed the career ladder a bit, but got bored. Committed relationship of four years. Thinking about school, moving, traveling, and wondering if I even remember how to write.

During the holidays, I felt like I had “ask me about marriage” written on my forehead– just to give you an idea of how many times it came up. And maybe it is a valid question, but it’s not one I like answering. I watch their faces shift to disinterest when they find out, no, there’s no wedding to plan. God, I’m just a 20-something!

And the thing is, you’ll read this and think “she’s making this all up in her head”. Oh, I know. But it’s this narrative I’m trying to shake. And I won’t be able to unthink it, unlearn it, until I finally do something about it. 

Cheers to a New Year where, like Bridget Jones, I’m making resolutions I probably won’t keep.

And the people that act like being 26 is the same as being 30, can f*** right off! Not that there’s anything wrong with being 30, or close to 30, or over 30. You are amazing, you thirty-year olds! I am just going through my quarter-life crisis at a slow pace, one year and counting. Maybe this will be the year I figure my shit out.