Hello, friend.
If I asked you to describe one aspect of the human condition that you consider to be difficult or challenging, what might come to mind?
I mean, Liz, there’s just such a plethora of aspects to choose from!
Feet, for example. I get why they exist but why do they have to look the way they do?
And don’t get me started on penises. One of my dear friends once told me that “Maybe you don’t actually love the penis, but the sensation of it.” Maybe this was a ploy to get me to sleep with her. Maybe it was a ploy to get me to sleep with her partner’s partner. Either way, Freud can suck it!
Then there’s that annoying moment when it’s 4 AM and you’re recovering from a cold, but that one goddamn nostril just won’t clear up. So, you’re left with the option of 1) holding your breath until Jesus comes again and puts you out of your misery 2) breathing, but every inhale/exhale sounds like a tinny whistle, and you spend your conscious hours hoping you’re not bothering your husband/wife/boyfriend/girlfriend/partner/sex doll.
Being a regular human can be hard.
Thanks to Adam and Eve and that stupid piece of fruit, the moment we pop out the womb, we are immediately subjected to the terror that is the human condition.
I sound like a lemon (maybe that’s what Eve picked?), I know. But hear me out.
I’m only 25 so I’ve still got YEARS to live (knock on wood!). I don’t have as much life experience as you older millennials and Gen X’ers. And if you’re a baby and you’re reading this, please give your mother my apologies and then smack her/them for me, because why is she/they letting you read this?
But like the Bible reminds us, judging someone for their age is not cool. “So not the vibe”, as the kids are saying.
25 is a weird age. I don’t know if I like it or hate it or just feel “meh” about it.
I’m more confident. I drink more wine now and it doesn’t look as desperate. I’ve learned the difference between talking “with” and being talked “at”. Setting boundaries is becoming my new favorite hobby. My dog allergies are fully developed, unlike my sense of bathroom humor. No still means no and I’ll bitch about it if I have to. I eat more than I used to and because of this, my hips/ass are both bigger. Thus, I am now shaped like a well-proportioned pear (maybe that’s what Eve picked?).
At the same time, I still struggle with petty insecurities. I am unwed. I do not yet have children, but have indeed experienced the universal, heart-stopping pregnancy scare – I am told this qualifies for something. I have brown hair (no explanation needed). I sometimes wear glasses because I cannot see the TV as clearly as I could when I was 18. I read less than I used to and I’m humble (cowardly) enough to admit that this is not because “I’m so fucking busy!”.
I wish I could pull an Adele and label a record-setting album “25” and then disappear for years, doing glorious famous-people things. Alas, I do not possess a musical bone in my body (insert cheeky funny bone joke here). So, I must resort to this blog post. This little collection of quips and scribbles that now occupies a milli-whatever of the internet (I don’t know interweb terminology).
I could be cool and jot down what I’m learning at 25 in a poignant and off-the-cuff poem. But writing poetry is easy as shit and sitting down to write like this is harder and more rewarding. So here we are. You, me, and all this sexual tension (what?!).
Anywayy…I was complaining to my sister-in-law a few weeks ago about how difficult I’m finding it to feel content here in the South. Before you roll your eyes and click that “X” in the upper right corner, I ask you to hear me out, once again. I explained to her how disheartening it can be to field questions from pasty, well-intentioned Nosy Nancy’s about the status of my relationship(s) and the status of my reproductive organs.
“It’s just frustrating.” I sighed into my glass of wine. “I don’t want to be asked about whether I’m engaged or married or when I’m gonna start thinking about having children.”
This is something that I believe many women feel. These questions expose the weighted blanket that society tosses onto women who’ve reached a certain age (and by certain age, I mean between the ages of 2-90). I feel it here, especially in the South. However, I am old enough to know good and well that while I might feel something, it does not make it inherently true. I realize that women all over the world are met with the same societal pressures. This doesn’t just happen in the South. But I will say that when I’m living in bigger cities (and by bigger, I mean with actual public transportation), I experience a less concentrated version of this.
You see, I’m one of those women that loves work. I find deep fulfillment in it. Along with acts of service, work is a love language of mine. Some real Type A shit. So, when I’m getting asked about when I plan on marrying/having children with the man I’ve been dating for however long, you can assume that I’m not walking away from that conversation feeling especially great. It’s stupid – that we’re conditioned to ask such questions. If you honestly take a moment to think about it, asking someone about their reproductive plans can be a little invasive and dare I say, rude?
And if that sort of question is considered “normal”, then why can’t my response of “Why don’t I hand you my calendar to let you, Karen, jot down suitable times when my partner and I can fuck so that you can stay in the loop?” be acceptable?
This aspect of the human condition, as well as feet and periods, is something I find truly insufferable. Having to politely dodge societal stabbings. In heels. With a dress that doesn’t show off too much cleavage but outlines our ass just right. Looking both infantile and mature (a feat perfected only by Russian robots and most of Hollywood).
What heightens the absurdity of this is that nobody actually cares. We’re all too focused on our own lives and circles and skincare routines to really care about what someone else is doing with their life or their partner or their uterus (unless you’re a member of the Supreme Court!). We all know this on a rational level. But it takes time for our hearts and brains to get in sync. Thankfully, when it comes to matters like this, Time is on our side. As we age, we shed the layers of social anxiety. This is something I am grateful for and continue to look forward to. In the meantime, I’m teaching myself to laugh about it.
Because what’s funnier than the cosmic joke that is the human condition?