Quarter-Life Crisis? Poppycock.

A couple of weeks ago, I probably drank a little too much whiskey and listened to music just a little too loud, in my apartment, while wearing pajamas.  I had a party with myself.  The occasion, you ask?  Figuring out what I want out of my life, because let’s face it - life is super short and you don’t realize it until it is way too late.  I danced, I sang, I drank.  I read, I wrote, I mused.  I asked myself tough questions and thought carefully, methodically, and intently about each one.  What do I want to be doing with my life?  What kind of impact do I want to have on the world?  What kind of future do I envision for myself?  What is my perfect life, if I could snap my fingers and make it true?

Some would call my consumption of Johnny Walker Double Black coupled with the musical stylings of Santigold a symptom of a quarter-life crisis.  I disagree.  I have deep issues with the term “quarter-life crisis” for a number of reasons.  The first is a simple logic error as it implies that I could live to be 116 years old, which I find to be highly improbable even with advances in medical science.  And more importantly, the painfully popular phrase implies that my current life is a catastrophe in need of fixing, which simply is not the case.  So, no.  This is not a quarter-life crisis.  Instead, this is me checking in with myself, asking the hard questions, and hashing out important details that can easily go unnoticed, ignored, and overlooked when going through the motions of day to day life.  

I learned a lot during my solo dance party of self-reflection, much of which will slowly be revealed here.  The bottom line is that I accepted a number of realities and emerged with a clear head,  motivation, and acceptance.  I mapped out my perfect life - both personally and professionally - which is kind of a big deal.  With a clear vision of how I want to spend my future years, I became motivated to explore avenues to make it happen (otherwise this would just be a drunken, music-filled daydream).  Last and most paramount, I accepted that I am a quirky woman with a number of passions and talents, and vowed to not limit myself by playing it safe or creating two personas - a professional and a creative.  Who says you can only choose A?  Why should I pretend that B, C, and more don't exist? 

After all, why pick just one thing?