This piece, arose from a moment of reflection upon something very mundane, like all pieces of art that interest me. Recently, inspired by a podcast dedicated to rewatching HBO’s Girls, I’ve started to rewatch the show. The first time I watched it was when it came out around 2012, because I’ve always been oddly obsessed with keeping up with what’s culturally relevant. The problem with that, was this meant I was in high school and kept watching through the early years of college. Not that I didn’t enjoy it then, but after seeing it now, towards the end of 26, it really feels like now I get it.
In season 2 of the show, there is an episode in which, Hannah, the 24-year-old protagonist, meets a doctor in his 40s and randomly spends two romantic days with him in his apartment. He has this generous brownstone that only people who have their sh-t together and are in their 40s can afford. He’s a handsome and kind doctor who’s dealing with a separation from his wife, whose existence is hinted at by the tasteful decoration. At one point during their escape from reality, Hannah breaks into tears and delivers a monologue that feels essential to the experience of being a 20-something. She opens with “Please don’t tell anyone this, but I want to be happy”. She wants the apartment with the nice stuff, the kind doctor, the comfortable, generic life. As she realizes, she’s not that different. She wants what everyone wants, she wants “all the things”, as opposed to how she started out a long time ago, with the promise of collecting all the experiences she can, going through the nitty gritty of life.
Throughout my early twenties, I’ve seen people having various reactions to this realization. First, there are the ones that never have this realization. They’ve always wanted to get a steady job, partner, marriage, house, family… To want these, was never a surprise for this group, because it was already the goal. Or they didn’t even think about it until it happened upon them. It was the natural course of life; they had never set out to do “anything crazy” to begin with. They can only hope this lack of criticism during their early years, does not result in a mid-life crisis later on.
In the second group, where I am residing, you have people who at some point in their lives, almost swore to themselves, to be part of anything interesting and fun, to experience whatever there is to experience, with each having their own set of personal ground rules. Like they took an oath to be part of great stories, to do things to collect these stories, even just to take them back to their friends and have a laugh. Living with the curiosity of an artist towards life, and the desire to find out about the possibilities that come from interacting with thousands of people, each having their own peculiar worlds. Having the realization that happiness, might come from the boring, mundane, normal life that you were previously very critical of… It shakes things up a little bit. It’s a constant pendulum that swings from “How could I not want this; this is so cosy” to “How could I abandon the possibility of having the next weird experience?”.
Then I have another type that I’ve encountered, the denier. This person keeps living through the ages without ever acknowledging a need for a “comfort zone” of any sorts. The experience of living life with less rules, outweigh the rooting down with someone you love path. This outlook, however, seems to lock people down in a different way. Because when they do have a desire to experience more steady things, or to feel love in a more profound way, they try to catch glimpses of it with the wrong people. Somehow, they fail to make themselves happy by denying a need they have at times. The rejection of the comfort zone creates a different kind of comfort zone. One where you don’t ever need to open up to someone in a deeper way, or offer anyone anything solid, because you never stick around for that long anyway. That’s why it’s an interesting distinction what Hannah categorizes as happiness. Apparently, the choice has boiled down to: stories, or happiness? Which obviously meant the stories did not mean happiness, or as much happiness, anymore.
Whoever has the right answer, or whether there is a right answer is not the point, however. Maybe it’s a constant balancing act, with the next weird story on one side, and being calm and at peace on the other. And perhaps the late twenties experience is getting yourself to believe “fun couples with steady jobs” do exist.
Ecem Olgun 