It makes me laugh to think that I thought I was having a quarter-life crisis when I was 22. Right now, 25 is hot on my heels, and I don’t really think I’m in a crisis now, either. I’m braver and more understanding. I’m willing to add and remove people to/from my life without much hesitation. I still don’t own a car. Or a kitten.

And still, literal years later, I can’t say the things that are on my mind. Despite running into the one individual today who caused me to swear to myself, at the age of 21 no less, that I would never not say the things that are on my mind ever again. I’m still mostly afraid of the opposite gender, let’s just me honest for a minute.

This post is a melange and I am sorry about that.

“Your twenties are an amalgamation of negotiations, trial and error and sleeping in late with various friends or men or women on a Sunday morning after another party that ended with tits and poutine. There are always more questions than answers, like do I email or do I not email, is he asking me on a date and are we even dating when I don’t hear from him for days, are we still on for next weekend and whose hosting that party and where are my shoes and how the hell do I land a sweet job and is that a bottle of vodka?

By the age of 24, you’ll be tired of playing it cool and of asking these questions and of feeling guilty for showing interest in a member of the opposite sex, which rolls in a whole new tide of awesomeness and simultaneous self-loathing. Do you have no shame/willpower/patience? I don’t either. Stop acting like you don’t care because I just might believe your lack of words above your actions when I let you in my bed. Don’t fly your sex-kite too high or dive too far down into the river of awkward phone calls and cheek-kisses. At the quarter-century mark, more mornings than not, you’ll be proud of the texts you chose to send and the doors you chose to close, the evenings of live music and the weekends you spent in your hometown driving your mum’s Corolla, visiting your best friend and her new baby.

This is obviously not the guy I’m going to marry but he can pick me up and fling me on springy mattress (when he isn’t trying to play it cool) and so I’ll await his email with baited breath and get wasted with my student friends in the meantime.”

A short non-fiction, by me.

A best friend and I spent the majority of tonight emailing each other back and forth. We came to some superb conclusions.

‘Tis true, we are approaching an age where it isn’t such a huge exaggeration to feel that your biological clock is ticking, however quietly. We might prioritize higher education and pay cheques and writing and regular exercise and that new down jacket at Simons – but my biological clock is not ticking for any of these things. It ticks for a mate, it ticks for a mini-Tyler. Softly, harmlessly, it ticks. And my ears are extremely attuned to it, these days. It’s truly petrifying.

I have a theory. In 2009, I read the book ‘He’s Just Not That Into You’. This book taught me about self-confidence, it told me not to keep useless men in my life who lead me around on a string with no intention of ever loving me to the extent that I deserved, not to be ‘taken advantage of’ – whatever that really means. From time to time, I return to this book. I re-read key paragraphs, remembering that I am not, in any way, IN ANY WAY, desperate because I seek affection. We all seek love, naturally. Yet, despite all of this excellent advice, the book also seems to reiterate that maintaining one’s dignity fully intact at all moments also necessitates removing interesting men from life because … they aren’t interested, romantically? Bio-clock, really?

One who has read this book will note, however, that there is not a single sentence dedicated to the Good-Guy-Friend. Of which I have a dozen, easy. How am I supposed to navigate this territory, according to this book, without losing my friends and losing my confidence? Why is this ticking time-bomb inside of me negotiating with what I read in that book, combining into this voice that insists, when it comes to the male gender, I seek out only mates?

The name of this project comes to mind: we are in yet another grey area.

Where is that leeway? When you first meet a new person and they are nice and funny but not necessarily someone you initially consider ‘your type’ – or vice versa, they think this about you – and you gradually become friends and romantic interest on either side wanes/increases – and in the end, you simply end up being very good friends – where is the handbook for this? On the relationship ladder, where is this rung?

For example, I completely refuse to stop hanging out with a male friend of mine, even if I do harbour a small crush on him, just because he does not feel the same. This is how relationships form and evolve. People are not slotted into specific and carefully delineated categories when you first meet them, sorry. Relationships are dynamic, they are always changing – and I know this is a fact.

I just want to hang out. I want us to eat and drink together. We can talk about girls, we can talk about guys, we can talk about hockey or cars or ponies. Really, whether I have a crush on you or I don’t, there is no reason to not invite you out with my friends, or to not accept kind invitations, because you ‘just aren’t interested that way’.

‘He Is Just Not That Into You’, which my friend and I acknowledge we’ve lived by for the last two years, maintains our happiness in a great equilibrium, but it also errs on the side of men and women as separate entities that only interact in a romantic, sexual fashion. Not true. If I notice my feelings for any male individual make me upset more often than not, that is when I step back and re-assess, or maybe avoid seeing this particular person for longer spans of time. In the pre-goodfriendship stage, however? These rules do not yet apply.

Essentially, I am choosing Man A to be my friend. We get along, we enjoy each other’s company, we aren’t necessarily around each other enough yet to be fully confortable, say, calling each other to hang out last minute on a Saturday night, without some form of sexual innuendo likely being attached to that. And you know what, whether we reach the stage of being really good friends or more than that really doesn’t matter. The end result is not the issue here, because it will be whatever it is supposed to be. The process is what I want. This awkward, sexual tension-filled ‘are-we-friends?’ process that eventually leads to a completely awesome and strong and reliable friendship is just so important to go through, even if the end result is, again, a super cool new friendship.

We’ve met, and you are part of my life now. I’ve decided that I want to go through the necessary steps with you so that we can be something – and I refuse to feel bad about that anymore.

It won’t work sometimes. The path may lead to something strange and broken, a grey relationship? And if this happens, at least I tried. At least we gave it a shot at being something, together. If I am 23 and I am not building as many relationships with as many people (men included!) as I can while I still have the ability, while we are all still healthy and not hugely tied down, why shouldn’t I? My heart will get injured by friends the same way it will by boyfriends and crushes. I won’t regret a thing though.

I’ve decided that certain relationships I have with men are the most meaningful relationships I have period. They need to be tried on and fit into. And if it takes a fight to eventually have these relationships – which it does, from time to time – then so be it.

That said, it has also come to my attention that over the last year, many of the men I’ve met are typically friends of other male friends of mine. I strike up friendships and sometimes more with these new fellows, all of which ultimately result in just casual acquaintances.

Interestingly, in the background of these new friendships are my original, male friends, most of whom I’ve had weird tension with at some point, but with whom nothing ever developed. He doesn’t want anything serious, he acts like a jerk to me too often, we’re just good friends, he has a girl on the side, he’s probably gay – the list of reasons is never-ending. But it always exists. In all honesty, I don’t have a single good male friend with whom more-than-friend drama has not occurred in some way or another. I’ve either liked them, or they’ve liked me, but the feeling was not mutual at the right time (or, ever) and good friendship is the end result. We’re weird friends who go out together all the time and who everyone whispers (or blatantly asks) about to common friends, we laugh at all the same jokes and like the same weird dance moves. Music is often a source of mutual interest. Etc. Etc. The list is long.

As such, I worry about making new male friends. I like my old ones, I’ve been down that (at times, 3-year long) path with them already, it’s all behind us and we’ve moved on. However, with the news ones, there’s a heavy chance that our friendship will be tossed up in the air at some point, because of drunken cuddling (P), drunken hand-holding (J), or drunken texts (B). And then there’s the added pressure of going through this with friends of male friends who I’ve already experienced this with.  What do they think of me? How do they perceive they’re guy friends as they try to flirt with me and try to take me home?

Is it not possible to just hang-out in a non-committal fashion, without peering into each other’s eyes at one point or another and wondering if this could be a soul mate? So we laughed the whole night and seemed to connect in a weird way that neither expected, that alone does not make us friends. Do strong male friendships always have to start off awkward and rocky and full of sexual tension before they can progress into something healthy and meaningful?

All signs point to Yes. All signs point to me going through these weird friendship stages with men until I actually meet the one with whom it isn’t just a phase, with whom it’s a progression into something awesome. Pi on attends.

I think I might just live life. I might just apply myself to the things I want to be doing and not to the things I feel as though I should be doing.

I want to keep writing, I want to read, I want to finish my Halloween costume and maybe win a prize for it. I want to work out every night and flirt with my friend’s roommate and wonder if I’ll see him this Friday night. I keep thinking that this easy life I’m living – single, work and play – is temporary, and that one of these days I’m going to need to get my ‘shit’ together and be an adult. Yet, then I realize that, in fact, this is my life. This is the life I’ve built for myself in Montreal – and you know, it’s not too good to be true. It’s just good enough and it’s all true and it’s all mine and I can do whatever I like with it. There aren’t any rules.

And so, quarter life crisis … complete?

Things need to change. Making the decision is so much harder than actually following through with the decision, in my opinion. Can I quit my job now, and just live off my writing (assuming they actually want to pay me like they say they might) until next year when I go back to school? Probably not. I would be poor by then.

The fact is that I need something more. The line of work I chose as an 18-year old student entering university was not a mistake, per say, but it definitely did not involve me knowing myself well enough to follow my heart. Luckily, I do happen to know myself now (these things occur when you aren’t even paying attention – somewhere between the summer partying sessions, I suppose), and I know that this is not the situation I’d ever envisioned myself in. Definitely caught between a rock and a hard place, unable to decide what I want, or where I would like to go to find what I want.

I may end up on a plane back to Europe at this point, and I won’t be back in five months like that last time this happened.

I’d like to quote ‘Eat, Pray, Love’ here, quickly. Maybe this is the case, maybe it’s not. I’ve been known to exaggerate.

“People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that’s what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that is holding you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so you can change your life.

A soul mates purpose is to shake you up, tear apart your ego a little bit, show you your obstacles and addictions, break your heart open so new light can get in, make you so desperate and out of control that you have to transform your life …”

Maybe.

In general, I think, I can say that this combination of things will ultimately lead you down a happy road:

- Eating
- Close friends of both genders
- Music. Lots of it. Live and electronically.
- Being a gym rat. You need to do it at some point. Might as well do it while you are still young and your metabolism isn’t a pile of merde.
- Consistent amounts of sunlight. I am always happy in the summer time. More or less.

Okay.

On the first day after my passing, I bought concert tickets, I took books out at the library for the first time, I ate Indian food, and I went for a run.  

Things I didn’t do:

-          Ridiculously check the same three people’s Facebook pages every couple hours.

-          Wonder why so and so on chat wasn’t talking to me, and creating worst case scenarios in my head

-          Continue my crack addiction

Christ. Now that I am done, I’m done. It’s over. Life was fine before Facebook and life is going to be  fine afterwards.

I’m going to be a healthy adult who has real, face-to-face relationships with the people she cares about. I don’t need to be talking to my friends 84 times a day. I don’t need my life to be so accessible.

A little mystery never hurt nobody!

I handled it by doing the following:

-          Drinking and air-guitaring at various bars all weekend. Buying drinks for all my friends because hey! those savings need to be put to use now that they aren’t going towards tuition!

-          Buying a top o’ the line computer.

-          Shopping. Shoes and pants.

-          Going to the gym like an absolute fanatic. This is me trying to control my life. Maybe I have anorexia. Oh wait, I eat like a cow, that can’t be right.

All of this to say, I am terrible with rejection. As a rule though, during 2009 and what I’ve seen of 2010 so far, I need to accept this new reality of life that I luckily haven’t dealt much with up until this point. School and men were always my high points, and now I am failing in both regards.  To be honest though, now I have an excuse to spend another year partying and working and shopping and travelling.

No one is going to join my pity party, let me just say.

As such, the revelation for the first quarter of the first year of this fabulous new decade is the following:

Get rejected. Get tossed on your face. Let them throw all those bricks and shatter all your plans.

And then, get up, shake the dust out of your hair, and move the fuck along.

The world is not going to stop because Harvard of Canada doesn’t want me gracing their precious halls. On se calme les pon-pons, mes amis.

Plus, it’s good once in a while to have your ego slightly dashed. Keeps ya grounded, gang.

Two weeks ago, I was absolutely sure that out of all the possible quarter-life crises I could possibly have had or was at the time having, or that could even come shortly down the road, this was the worst possible moment of my whole life.

Then a week later my aunt passed away and my cousin who is only six months younger than I was tossed out into the world without her mother.

Let me just say, life keeps going.

Let me just say, I’m pretty sure I’m growing up.

ps. on a side note, everyone and the dog has been getting engaged lately. This calls for more drinking and more pants.