August 7, 2009

• prime time?

  When I turned 27, I nerdily noted that I was a cube. 28 was perfect. 29 was prime. 30 was 30. As of this past Wednesday, I’m prime again, but I actually don’t really like the feel of the number 31. It’s hard to explain — some numbers are good, and some are bad, and admitting that makes me sound like I have Asperger’s. Still, though, I’d rather be 32 – a nice, round, power of 2.

  Nerdiness aside, I’ve been struggling a bit lately. I’ve been meaning to blog about it, but haven’t really been sure where to start, but I just sent an email to a good friend in New York, and as I wrote it, it seemed to cover at least some of the territory I’ve wanted to chart out in a blog post, so I’m just going to edit it and put it here. It’s not the best-written post, since it is really an email, but at least I don’t have to figure out what to write. (I have another stub of a post that I will eventually flesh out and put up — it’s more of an abstract reflection, an attempt for me to visualize what’s going on in my life in less personal terms. I think I’m a little too close to myself to really understand what’s going on at first glance.)

  ***

  I think I was somewhat naive, believing somehow that moving to California would do nothing but make my life better, all around. I figured I’d be moving back to my native country, closer to friends and family, doing cool work, etc. And it’s true, but I didn’t really take into account some other factors: most of my good friends don’t actually live in California — they’re mostly in New York, DC, and Europe, and most of my pre-existing local friends and family are settled down — they don’t live near me, and they have their own lives, which are very different from mine. The people I’ve gotten to know here are mostly work friends, and although I really like them and see them a lot, they are still work friends, which keeps some minimal barrier of propriety in place. Living in the suburbs among people who are leading responsible lives also limits the amount of contact you have with people you’re getting to know over time, so you don’t get to know them as quickly.

   

  I had gotten used to college, law school, single life in New York, and then expat life abroad, where people are unattached, and it’s all like college, but with more money — you see people often and get to know them quickly. Under those circumstances, a year (which is about how long I’ve been here) is a perfectly reasonable time frame in which to outline and fill in a lot of the details of a new life. It’s just frustrating me that things are slower here, and that people’s lives are focused on things that are not that central to me at this point: careers, families, real estate, and outdoor activities.

  
  

  I do enjoy a lot of the things I thought I would enjoy: I like my job, I like being near my sister, I like feeling like less of an outsider, I like the weather. My new, local friends are really good people, and Superman is sort of the biggest and best unexpected surprise. I guess I just feel like I’m expected to live a more grownup life than I was before, and I’m not ready to do that yet — what I would get (and what I’m getting) doesn’t always seem like a fair trade for what I’m giving up. It’s immature and selfish, but I kind of do want it all. I want my freedom, but I also want the benefits of being in one place. 

  
  

  This sort of came to an inner head this week, and it’s hard to explain this anecdote in a way that makes sense. No one has ever thrown a surprise party for me — I’m a take charge, organize the masses kind of person, when it comes to social activities (but only when I’m in a social mood), something I never really realized until late in college. I organize my parties, I organize other people’s parties — I get impatient with other people’s hesitation, sometimes, so I just do it.

   

  This year, however, I was really waffling about having any sort of birthday celebration (I even worked from home on my birthday to avoid the risk of an awkward cake and lunch), because the date had drawn very close, and I couldn’t really think of what I would want to do and with whom — Just work people? It would be hard to get my city friends and family to do anything, since they live 45 minutes away and have lots of kids and responsibilities. But a work party seemed kind of lame. And what to do with the people? At short notice, it’s hard to get headcount, and without headcount, it’s hard to figure out what to do, and without knowing what to do, it’s hard to decide whom to invite. So I just left it.

  
  

  And then Superman tried to schedule a surprise dinner, but was unable to keep it a secret, and told me about it. And I was already feeling really out of sorts about the whole thing, and when he told me who was coming (which he had determined partly based on who is local, and partly based on the limited contact information he had for people I knew — almost all of my friends whose information he has are work colleagues), it was a mix of some of my actual friends from work and a few people I don’t really know that well (but still like in a vague way) from work. Other friends from work weren’t included, and neither were my non-work friends. I just couldn’t imagine going to a small dinner with such a truly random group of people.

   

  Does this make sense — if I’m celebrating something personal, it should either be a small gathering of the people I’m actually close to, or a larger gathering that can include more casual acquaintances, but a small gathering that includes casual acquaintances just seems really awkward. I think normally it wouldn’t have bothered me much, but I was already feeling really torn and undecided enough about the whole thing that it stressed me out, and we ended up canceling it the morning of. Which may have seemed odd to some of the invitees, but I was actually worried that I would not make it through the dinner with grace.

   

  Can you believe that something as innocuous and sweet as a surprise dinner would leave me feeling so unhinged? (I’ve probably blown my chances of ever having one again). It seemed disproportionate, even to me, but I couldn’t help it. I like feeling like I have control over my life and what’s in it, and I’ve been feeling like I have very little control over key parts of my life lately — most notably, I have a busy social life, but not a deep one. I used to have both, and I miss that dearly.

  
  

  Superman was really nice about it — he didn’t seem to mind at all that he had gone to the effort to try to organize something nice for me (and he hates organizing things), and yet I awkwardly canceled the whole thing. We went out to a low-key dinner, just the two of us, instead, that night, and then last night, we went out to what he had intended as the “real” dinner — we went to a fancy restaurant, and it was a nice evening. I think if I went to the trouble of organizing something for someone, and they just threw it all away, I would be pretty annoyed. On top of all of that, he still got me presents, which he hasn’t given to me yet, because he is still waiting for one of them to come. I am half-ashamed and half-charmed by his goodness through this silly drama, none of which is his fault, and which really is a result of my own inability to accept the way my life looks right now.

   

  I feel awful for thinking that — my life looks great. I have a job I like, a great boyfriend, good friends all over the world, a reasonably functional family… I guess I sort of feel like my life is spread out over a large part of the world, and not enough of it is here with me, and I don’t have deep roots here, but don’t know if I ever want deep roots here (or anywhere) — I mourn my lack of roots, but flinch at the thought of having any.

  
  

  Sigh.

   

  I feel like I’m going crazy, and that I have these pointless, perceived crises every so often, but will never be able to avoid them unless something about my internal makeup changes on a fundamental level.

  • 5:33 pm
  • 7 Comments