Decade #3.

The roaring 20s. Well, mine anyway. My twenties were a mish mosh of all the things one’s twenties should be (and maybe shouldn’t be).  I remember reading this quote one time (feel free to let me know who said this so I can credit them) about the biggest mistake you can make in your twenties is thinking or feeling you should have your life together already. I found this hysterical the first time I read it. Hilarious. I had literally one day of my twenties, maybe two, where I thought I might be on the right track.

My twenties were mostly an exercise in survival, for many reasons. All the typical reasons applied as I was tinkering, exploring, loving, and liking. Also, I was in one relationship for most of my twenties. Seven and a half years to be precise. My twenties were gobbled up and dominated by one romantic relationship. A relationship that shattered any notions I had about love being what you see in the movies. A relationship that challenged my desire to one day marry and have children. A relationship that absolutely challenged me to decide how far was too far. A relationship that gave new life into old and terrible patterns of behavior. A relationship that drew a marker on the wall so when I ask myself (or when others query) whether my last real relationship I had was the start of it all, I can decidedly say absolutely not.

That relationship didn’t just lead me to explore my sentiments on romance and intimacy. That relationship shifted my view on the world.

Sadly, my 20s relationship wasn’t my first experience with infidelity. It was, however, the first time that I agreed to look beyond such behavior. It was the first time I decided to give someone another (thirty) chances [to hurt me]. It was the first time I had evidence right in front of my face as to what I was being subjected to and decided that I would reframe those facts to suit my delusional narrative. It was the first time I had to really take long strides out of a somewhat innocent existence into a world tinged by distrust and disappointment.

And you know what? I don’t regret it. Like my last relationship, if I could change something, I wouldn’t have stayed so long. But even that, the timeframe, served some purpose for me. That’s the truth. I needed time to figure out just how entirely fucked the whole situation was in the greater scheme of my life.

The craziest bit, perhaps, is that there was so much else I accomplished during my 20s. I ran my first marathon. I bought my first home. I bought my first new car. I graduated from graduate school (for the first time). I walked away from long standing childhood friendships that didn’t seem to serve me any longer. I had one million jobs. One million. And I quit nearly all of them. I partied and chilled. I realized what a shitty sleeper I am at my core. I read every book (you are sensing a theme there, no?). I attended my sister’s wedding. I traveled. A ton.

I also separated emotionally from nearly everything and everyone that was important to me. This was the way I decided I would survive. I would take space and that space would give me the room I needed to self-destruct without judgment or intervention.

And then came the day. I was closer to 30 than 20. It was Thanksgiving and I was sitting on the steps in my childhood home (since sold, but that’s a tale for tomorrow). I received a call, the details of which are unimportant, and I wished harm to my partner of many years. I wished irreparable harm. I wished the universe would intervene and make it so that he wasn’t my problem anymore. I felt as if I didn’t have the strength to walk away, but what I didn’t realize is that my wish was the emergence of my courage. It was something deep inside of me crawling out. My desire to have a bigger and better life. My wish to stop cowering and coddling. Finally, my need to feel better overrode my desire to conform to what society told me I should have and felt just at my fingertips.

It was shortly after that moment that I finally let go. For real. For good.

It wasn’t until after I walked away that I realized all the lessons that were buried in the mess that were those years. It wasn’t until after the fact that I felt the fear of what came next. I was nearly 28 and single. My friends were married or well on their way. Some even had kids. I was starting over. Clean slate. Terrifyingly empty and blank slate. But then, I saw all the things I hadn’t before. The friends who stuck around. The family who loved me no matter what. The education and professional growth. The reintroduction to my physical body. The freedom. The awareness that being alone isn’t lonely but being with someone in a slog of unhappiness is absolutely the loneliest place around. I realized what it felt like to release the burden of 24 hour a day fear and complacency. I was untethered and it fueled me and scared the shit out of me.

I didn’t spend my twenties thinking I had shit figured out. I spent most of my twenties in a white-knuckled grip, holding onto what I thought was my path. It didn’t feel reassuring and comfortable. It felt like I was going to lose it all in a moment and be left utterly devoid. Empty. Pathetic.

I am not sharing this so we can have a collective pity moment. These were my choices. This was my life. This was my doing. I speak of it now so you can see. You can see my flawed humanity, my devastation, and my desire to be better and do better. I only dug out because I felt like there was a light on the other end of the tunnel. Not a marriage and kids light. A ‘I can finally fucking be me’ light.

You know the sad bit? I was so damaged. The patterns of behavior I referred to earlier? Those are all the instances where I didn’t speak my mind for fear of unraveling the lot. The times I spoke up and then folded for fear of being left. The occasions where I convinced myself that I was getting the best I deserved.

No. Fuck that. Double no and fuck that.

I ended my twenties harmed but smarter. More resilient (good and bad). More determined. More damaged. More. More. More.

I used to watch Anthony Bourdain. There was so much about him I liked, but this quote really sealed the deal for me: “If you’re 22, physically fit, hungry to learn and be better, I urge you to travel — as far and as widely as possible. Sleep on floors if you have to. Find out how other people live and eat and cook. Learn from them — wherever you go.”

I did some of that, but also not when I was 22. I was too busy proving myself worthy. Now? Almost two decades later? I am hungry to learn and be better. I doubt I’ll sleep on floors but I will travel again (god willing). More than the physical journey elsewhere, I will travel within. I will do the work to sort out how I want to live. I will refine these thoughts by seeing how other people live (good and bad). It will not always be perfect and it will sometimes be hard but it will ALWAYS be magical.

That is what I carried into my 30s. So, what then?

We’ll find out tomorrow.

L.