Saturday night. Youthful, bright, full of life. Having fun. Making mistakes. Getting shit-faced on 6th. Dating hipster after hipster galore…
Now, I got the shit faced thing in motion, sippin’ on some spiked eggnog- more rum than anything at this point. Throw in a Biore strip, a baby and a When Harry Met Sally quote-along, and you’ve got yourself a Saturday night fit for a B-rated (fine, C-rated) sitcom. I commend myself for the multi-tasking, really. That shit requires effort. Only now, I am here. On a couch, cuddling with a pup. Coming to terms with reality. Applying for dozens of jobs, some of which only minutely deal with the field I aspire to be in, and any that would help me, ya know, survive.
Twenty-two, unemployed and babysitting my sister’s kid, as I am seduced by the soundtrack of every ‘90s New York City film and taken into a trance by Nora Ephron’s words. The unemployment part came by my own-doing. And the drinking alone and being single, also me. Social anxiety, self-deprecating humor and *adorably* overactive pop-culture references only land with so many. My own righteous indignation and romantic ways got me to this moment. My bad, but also, worth it.
I’m realizing this unemployment period doesn’t completely suck. The job searching sucks. Constantly checking my bank account sucks. Feeling useless absolutely sucks. But with this comes a new sensation of liberation, freedom, a world of possibilities. Or something less cliche and a bit more fun.
Unemployment in your early twenties leaves more time for:
Binge-watching TV series you only pretended to know (using someone else’s password, of course)
Reading (real fucking books, not just excerpts or reviews)
Exercising (I hear it’s great)
Talking to cashiers about life and weather and actually giving a shit
Deleting a few *thousand* unread emails
Trying homeopathic treatments for all your ailments
Diagnosing your ailments on WebMD
Coming to terms with your mortality
Laughing (shit just got real, I know)
Learning how to play an instrument
Adult coloring (which is just coloring with a glass of red and tears)
And of course, coming up with a clever caption for your Bumble profile (and every Instagram picture ever).
I like to refer to this period of time as my Undies. “So, Aimee, what have you been up to?” Oh you know, just going through my Undies.
“Enough with the clothing metaphors,” you say to yourself and yourself alone.
Undies is a less sophisticated version of underwear, and less sexy than panties, but absolutely necessary. It’s what you refer to when you’re on your period (shout out to my ladies who wear their Vadge of Honor proudly). It’s comfortable and familiar. It reminds you of times when you weren’t as concerned about the societal pressures around you. Or, ya know, panty-lines. It’s uncertain. “Is the elastic going to give one day? What if it gets a hole? I will never find another pair like this again!” It is exceedingly unapologetic. But most importantly, it’s something we all experience and revert to at one point or another. We all experience the Undies.
Bonus, while being unemployed, you don’t have to change your undies if you don’t want to (but ya know, I recommend you do).
It’s not just about unemployment or being in a funk. It’s about actively and consciously making the decision to breathe and accept the present and work towards shaping up for that next step. It’s about embracing crying fits and assuring you have a laughing one to follow. Loving and feeling so wholly that you don’t take the things you care about for granted. I never thought I’d be so sad after leaving an environment that wasn’t right for me. Or that I’d be searching and begging to do any kind of work to keep my mind busy on something other than my own thoughts. The Undie stage crept up on me unplanned and, initially, unwanted. I don’t want to go back to what’s comfortable, I want to be successful and happy. Now.
The impatience, the uncertainty- It’s what so many of us post-job, post-grad, post-relationship, post-posts feel. I am in it. I’ll move on from it someday- when I finally get gussied up for a night out on the town or have a hot date- but until then, I’m trying really hard to be comfortable and content, happy to be back to basics- to just be. If sketching, going out, or drunkenly quoting a seventeen-year-old romantic comedy gives you joy, then make time for it and do it as loudly and unabashedly as possible. Funks don’t last forever.
Get weird, (wo)man, and go make the best out of your Undies.