Nothing Changes: Why It Sucks When You're Made to Feel You Can't Handle Yourself

Can someone please tell me why in 2017 we’re still going with this bullshit theory that boys can take care of themselves better than girls?

Either nothing really has changed or I hit my head somewhere and somehow got magically transported to 1920. Which would be fun except the whole part about women not being able to do anything, even thinking, without the aid of someone else.

This may not be the sole factor in my argument but I believe it’s the starting point. It’s the crux, the reason, the nucleus of an extremely annoying dilemma.

Picture this: A family consisting of at least one daughter and one son. There can be more of each, it doesn’t matter, as long as there is one boy and one girl involved. Let’s say they’re both over eighteen years old; the age in which you are legally an adult.

Just for fun, the definition of adult: “An adult is a mature, fully developed person. An adult has reached the age when they are legally responsible for their actions.” –Collins Dictionary

Therefore, by definition, an adult is a person who is legally responsible for themselves. So then why is it that an adult son can seemingly do whatever they please while the adult daughter has to pass through a written test and an obstacle course before stepping out of the front door? Could it be because society has forced the notion into our brains that men can take care of themselves? And that women, being small, naïve, and innocent, need someone to be with them at all times? Even if the person with them is, ironically, another woman? Yes, I understand the strength in numbers theory. But if someone is going to kidnap you, they’re not going to stop because your friend is with you. They’re probably going to kidnap you both.

I will admit that women are perceived as the easier targets in most people’s minds therefore making us more vulnerable in the eyes of predators. I don’t pretend to ignore the fact that women have to be more careful because of this. When it comes to sexual assault, women tend to be the victims almost ten times more than men do. I don’t ignore this either.

Women should be cognizant of that fact and take the proper precautions in keeping themselves safe. However, that does not mean never doing anything alone because there is a chance you may be assaulted. There also is a chance you may be in a car crash, a plane crash, struck by lightning, or get hit by a bus. You could also fall down the stairs, choke on a hot dog, or fall out of a tree. Going by this logic alone you could also get bit by a vampire, mauled by a werewolf, or kidnapped by a witch who wants to feed you candy and cook you in an oven. I’d wager you have more of a chance with the vampire.

I am not ignorant. I understand that assault is real and that it happens more often than it should. I could even go as far as saying it’s gotten worse as time goes on. I understand that you shouldn’t put yourself in situations that could potentially cause you harm. There is a reason you don’t walk completely alone at night in seedy areas or go down dark alleys. I will be the first person to tell you that as a woman you have to be more careful and aware. It’s the sad reality of our life.

But in no way am I saying we have to stop living our lives because of it; because of the threat of something that may or may not happen. It’s ridiculous and it’s one of the many things that has always sparked anger in me. Couple that with the implications that you don’t understand what you’re talking about when you attempt defending yourself; it’s a recipe for your (well-placed) anger.

It brings me back to the double standard that’s put upon us as women. Our brothers, male cousins, male friends, etc. seemingly have the freedom to go and do as they please. If you don’t believe that’s true than I will outright laugh in your face. No one bats an eye if a man wants to go somewhere alone whether it be to the store, out on the town, or even on a trip out of the country. There is worry, of course, but it’s the normal amount of worry. They’re sent on their way with a “be careful” and maybe a vague promise to keep in touch. Suggest the same as a woman? Be prepared to answer a million questions, defend your reason for daring to leave the house, and possibly fill out some paperwork.

Suggest it in an Italian household (or any household rooted in old world ideals? Haha. Good luck. I wish you the very best and that you come out of it with your sanity intact. You won’t, by the way.

I believe that as long as you are aware, mindful, and prepared, there is no problem. You have to be smart about what you’re doing and where you’re going, of course. You need to be able to read situations at all times. That’s just good life practice. But the point is you can’t stop living your life or not live it to the fullest. You deserve to go where you want to go and do what you want to do. Again, just don’t be an idiot. As long as you’re smart and aware, you’ll be fine.

Most people don’t see the value in doing things alone. No one wants to be alone, of course. It’s nice to share experiences with other people. Although if you are someone who enjoys being alone over being with others, then all the power to you. It’s refreshing to do some things by yourself. It’s an important life skill to learn how to exist on your own. Because if you can’t learn to be alone with yourself, how can you expect someone else to? Or so “they” say. Also, it’s pretty damn important to be independent in this world. Contrary to the belief of some people in my life, I consider myself to be quite independent. I do what I want to do and I get myself where I need to go. And if I don’t know how to do something or get somewhere, I learn. Shocker.

Sometimes you just need to breathe. I love having alone time every once in a while. I need it. I go to the movies alone sometimes, or out to store, or into the city. Sometimes you need some space, some fresh air, some time to breathe by yourself. Maybe it isn’t for everyone. Although I’d argue it should be. Learning to do things alone makes you a stronger person in the end. Depending on someone else for everything is not healthy. It also implies that if you can’t find someone to do what you want to do, you have to miss out. No thank you is the only non-explicit way I can express my anger without letting loose a stream of curses.

There is so much I want to experience on my own. I want to go on a trip or vacation. I want to live on my own for a while. I kick myself daily for not going away for college and having that experience then. I think it’s important for me to live on my own and have that experience before I get married (whenever that may happen, if ever, but please happen). As I get older, I’m realizing that I don’t particularly like the idea of moving from my parents’ house to a house with my future husband. Quite frankly, I feel like I’ve waited too long to be fully independent and now the desire to be is too strong to push down.

It boils down to my anger at being told I can’t do something or shouldn’t do something independently because it’s not safe or something may happen. I’m stubborn and it brings up a deep-seated anger that I’m all too familiar with. I also do not take too well to people giving me orders or trying to enforce their ways on me. My defensive side flares and I cannot be held accountable for what comes out of my mouth.

I think society needs to smarten up as a whole. Maybe spend time teaching your daughters how to be smart and independent. Arm them with the knowledge and preparation they need to make it in the world. Worry when it’s time to worry and worry the right amount. But don’t hold them back. It doesn’t help when you transfer all of your worry onto them and make them feel scared and unsure. It’s a horrible feeling and it’s destructive behavior. Take my advice, don’t do it. Smart, aware, knowledgeable is better than scared and dependent.

It’s time for the times to start changing. But, will they? Will you? As always, time will tell. But I remain unmoving and independent.

Quarter Life Crisis Take#2

quarterlife crisis

/ˈkwɔːtəˌlaɪf/

noun

1.

a crisis that may be experienced in one's twenties, involving anxiety over the direction and quality of one's life

Remember that time I said I was going through a quarter-life crisis just before/after turning twenty-five? (Which I was, it’s true). But then shortly after, I thought I was over it. Remember when I was sorely wrong about that?

Oh boy, was I wrong!!

I felt like I was on the verge of a giant freak-out as I approached my twenty-fifth birthday last year. I was going through a bout of high anxiety around that time as well and it felt chaotic in my head. It’s not so much the age that bothered me as it was the lack of accomplishments in my life. Which, by definition, is a quarter-life crisis. Learning about it and realizing that I wasn’t alone helped me. I understood that not everything is supposed to come together by a certain age and that there is always time to achieve your goals. Twenty-five is not the end of the world, you’re still young and have plenty of time. Once I understood that, I thought I was good. Crisis averted.

Yet here I am, almost twenty-six years old, and fully in the clutches of a quarter-life crisis. I’ve since calmed most of my career and love-related anxiety, making peace with the fact that it will happen as long as I keep trying. (I am trying, in both respects). As much as I do still have anxiety over the career/love thing, it’s something else that’s sparking the crisis.

For a good chunk of time now, I’ve had the urge to have all of these experiences I’ve never had. I look back to when I was a teenager and I can’t help but notice how boring I was. I don’t want to say I wasn’t happy or that I didn’t have great memories because I did. I just wish that I had loosened up a bit and experienced a little more. I’m disregarding the fact that as a teenager I didn’t care to do anything everyone else was doing. My friends were the same. We all went to youth group together. Which was great; that’s where we all met and cemented our friendship. I’m grateful for it as well. Still, I wish I had done more.

I have the urge to experience the party scene (which I never did), get drunk (I didn’t care to drink as a teenager and so far, it seems that I am un-drunkable—not even kidding. I can seemingly hold my liquor haha). I’ve never dated, never had a boyfriend; I have zero experience in the man area. (And don’t think that doesn’t bother me). It all sounds really stupid, I know. But it’s something I never did and now want to do. I want to let loose, live life, party, stay up all night, go wild, etc. It’s a way I’ve never been and it’s weird that I want to be now. But I’m willing to embrace it.

I also attribute my recent foray into modern music to my quarter-life crisis. There was a time when I was vehemently against modern music. I lived in the past and loved everything about the oldies. Let’s get one thing straight before I move forward—I will always love old music, first and foremost. I will always be an old soul. The Beatles will always be my number one. My roots are very ‘50s rocker/’60s hippie and that will never change. BUT—I’ve embraced modern music in a way that I haven’t before. I have even broken down and liked Justin Bieber. That’s right. You heard it here. It’s only like one song, before you all explode from shock. Still, it’s enough. I’ve gotten into so many songs from today and have (almost) no problem flipping through the modern radio stations.

Then there’s the One Direction. I’m not even touching that one right now. Yes, I love One Direction. Yes, it’s unexpected. I knew them before, liked some of their songs but now? I full-out love them, not going to lie. They’re awesome. And yes, sexy British boys, blah, blah, etc. I think they’re perfect and frankly, I can’t believe I waited so long to get into them. And in my defense, there are many adult 1D fans so all you haters, shut-up. Anyways, that’s enough of that, the One Direction love is for another time, another blog. (Louis & Harry are totally the best though….Go listen to “If I Could Fly”….Their latest album is stellar, everyone should hear it….oh, they so will be coming back….sorry, I’m done).

I keep getting the feeling that I’m finally my age. I make jokes about it but I think there’s a bit of truth to it. As much as I love being different and listening to music from the past, I like the feeling of being my age and liking people that are actually still around and alive. Let’s face it, 90% of the people I admire in music, movies, whatever, are dead. Nothing wrong with that. Like I said, that’s where my heart will always be. But it’s kinda nice to be modern.

I haven’t completely lost myself though. There are still plenty of modern songs that I strongly detest. ;)

I’ve also changed fashion-wise. Again, it sounds stupid but it’s really true. For a long time, I was on the tomboy-ish/rocker/don’t-give-a-fuck side of things. Lately (meaning over the past few years), I’ve felt myself change. I’ve embraced my feminine side. (**GASP** ME?!?!) I want to wear dresses now, heels too but my feet won’t allow it. I’ve gotten into makeup, having my nails done (they need to be done ALL the time, no joke), etc. I’ve even let go of my hate of the color pink (haha). I’ve felt myself become more girlie and I’m okay with it. There’s nothing wrong with being girlie, of course. I’ve boiled it down to this: You can look good and still kick ass. Like Buffy. Because let’s be honest, if you don’t want to be like Buffy then you just aren’t cool.

Oooh and let’s not forget about the upcoming fourth tattoo. That one will totally signify my quarter-life crisis. You’d think so too if I told you what it’s going to be. ;)

I think the fear that’s fueling this quarter-life crisis is the fear of having regrets. I don’t want to wake up one day and realize that I haven’t even lived. I don’t want to regret not having any life experiences. I’m afraid of becoming one of those people who are unsatisfied in their middle age because of all the things they didn’t do. So, that’s why I want to do these things now. I’ve been told that I’m still young (which, I am) and that I should go out and live. That’s not to say that there’s an age limit to fun and experience. I just want to start now.

I made a promise to myself that I will get the experiences I crave. Maybe it won’t be all it’s cracked up to be in my mind and maybe I’ll completely hate it but at least I’ll be able to say that I’ve done it.

BRING IT ON!!!!

Who Am I?!

Sounds philosophical but it’s not. At least I don’t think so. Anyways.

For pretty much all my life I’ve been a sort of tomboy. I don’t want to say a full-out tomboy because I don’t feel that I had the total qualities of one. I did like to dress primarily in darker colours and mostly jeans and t-shirts or pants in general. I rocked the Converse. Still do. I hated pink. No I mean, I hated pink. And you had to force me to wear dresses. Makeup was up and down for me. Sometimes I wore it, foundation and all, then I went years without wearing any or taking much care in my appearance. (I still cringe). There was that whole thing about always wanting to kick ass Power Rangers style and wanting to be all the male characters in whatever I watched. I was always teetering on the edge of tomboy-ness.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I liked my fair share of girlie things; boy bands, romance movies, a plethora of sexy actors and musicians. (See my obsessions post from way back). I dabbled in makeup and liked painting my nails and all that. Sometimes I liked getting dressed up. But for all intents and purposes, I was more tomboy. My friend always said she wanted to put me on “What Not to Wear.” (Nice, right? Haha)

Let’s not forget my whole stance on modern music. There’s a blog post on that too. I still detest 85% of modern music. But for a while, I was seemingly filled with an angry hate for modern music. This was in the beginning of my Beatles conversion. (Still the best band in the world might I add).

Moving on to the point of this word vomit.

One day, the sky opened up, a bolt of lightning flashed and hit me. It changed my insides and so then I became different. Or—not. I found myself slowly changing over time. I got back into makeup and never left. Half of the reason I wear makeup is to cover up my gross acne (don’t get me started though it’s better now) but the other half is because I like it. I think it makes me look good. I even fill out my eyebrows!! I wear makeup whenever I go out with an exception of a few places. I’ve gotten into shellac and I get my nails done every two weeks. I’m rarely without painted nails. In the summer I like to have a pedicure as well. I go to the hairdresser more frequently to have my hair dyed and styled (I got cool bangs, yo). And I like to dress a bit differently, sometimes a little more girlie. I feel that I’m taking more pride in my appearance and that I want to look all good and pretty and shit. (Well at least my sailor’s mouth is still intact).

Oh and I like pink. Kind of. I like pink. I know, it’s catastrophic. I wear pink things and sometimes paint my nails pink. My favorite lipstick is bright pink. I know. I’m shocked too.

I spent $75 at Sephora and became a beauty insider or whatever. ME. I bought Victorian-style boots that look all fancy. I chose to wear dresses now. I downloaded the Starbucks app and intend to get a gold card. I like to wear pearls. I have a fancy watch. I take a long time to get ready because I’m perfecting my makeup. I sometimes wear heels. (They still hurt me so I’m not quite there yet). I do wear flats a lot though. I know there’s more. I sometimes post selfies. And sometimes with song quotes. *GASP*

*cries* SINCE WHEN AM I A WOMAN?!?!

Oh and let’s not forget the music. Now, I have my fair share of modern songs. I always have. But I swear, this year I have downloaded so many modern songs it’s not funny. One Justin Bieber song. Just one. And then there’s the One Direction thing. Yes, I said One Direction. Some may toss around the words “new obsession” but that’s neither here nor there. I liked them when they came out. I had a few of their songs. But all of a sudden, recently, it was just BOOM. Now I’m all into them. I listened to all of their albums. (They have a lot of great stuff, by the way. I suggest checking out “If I Could Fly” because holy shit). I’ve picked a favorite. (Louis heehee, *girlie giggles* Also, forever attracted to Harry’s long hair). I also may be listening to them as I write this. (You and me got a whole lot of history….)

Let’s face it. I’m a woman. And more into modern music. (Though my ranting on how most modern music sucks is still intact. ‘50s & ‘60s music FTW!!) (And see—I’m using some modern slang. Whaaaaaaat?!)

Like I always say, I’m never just one thing. I’m a walking contradiction. (I have a poem I wrote about that lying around somewhere….) And I have also deduced that you can be tough, kick ass, and still look good doing it.

Ironically, I have a toothpick hanging from my mouth as I write this like I’m some rough cowboy type. So, the tomboy still lurks somewhere.

Of course, none of this is to be taken seriously. There’s nothing wrong with being any certain way. And liking all I mentioned doesn’t equate to being a woman. A woman is a woman and that’s it. It’s all meant to be tongue-in-cheek. I’m perfectly happy being a mix of tough (tough?! Right!!) and girlie.

Remember: you can kick-ass and still look hot doing it!! It’s called being a woman. ;)

Peace.

Stand By Me: It's Infinite Wisdom and What it Taught Me About Friendship

Stand By Me is an adventure-filled coming of age movie that is arguably one of the best things to come out of the eighties. What’s better than four boys with huge potty mouths who leave home in search of a dead body? Not to mention that it stars River Phoenix who had the kind of face people wrote songs about. And of course, it was written by Stephen King. Is there anything better? No, there is not and don’t you dare bring Star Wars or something else into this.

Besides the adventure and the countless coming of age lessons, Stand By Me has one perfect golden nugget of information that is destined to almost always come true. At the end of the movie, adult Gordie, now a big time writer, sits at his computer writing the story you just watched. He ends with the most poignant and prophetical statement ever:

“I never had any friends later on like the ones I did when I was twelve. Jesus, does anyone?”

Funnily enough, I refused to agree with it. I thought I was going to be one of those lucky few who stayed friends with the same people all her life and the birds would sing and everyone would live happily ever after. Since this isn’t Cinderella and since no friendship in the world is like what you see on television, that didn’t happen.

The person I called my best friend since I was twelve (ironically) isn’t my best friend anymore. This came straight from the horse’s mouth so to speak. It’s no secret that she and I have drifted apart over the years. I think I refused to believe it at first or maybe I was too comfortable in my current situation to do anything about it. She would always say how she felt we were drifting apart to which I would reply: “Of course we’re not! This is how friendships are when you get older.” Then recently the inevitable happened and she informed me that yes, she still saw as friends but just not “best friends” anymore. In short, she found other friends that suited her better than my other good friends and I did. And that’s totally fine! No one says that drifting apart is a bad thing. Sometimes it happens.

The point is this: when you’re twelve years old you see the world differently. It’s not so much of a stretch to say that the friends you make at that age see the world the same way. And so you have a lot in common. You laugh together, do dumb things together and build a lot of memories along the way. But then one day, it all changes and you realize that you both see the world and approach life differently. And again, that is totally okay. Its better that you move on from each other instead of holding on to something that simply isn’t there anymore.

In Stand By Me, Chris and Gordie remain friends. They grow up and enter the scary world of adulthood together. (Yes, after that they didn’t talk much but that isn’t the point). The two of them drifted away from Teddy and Vern until they became distant memories of the past. It really does suck when it’s spelled out as blatantly as that but it rings true to real life. In my own situation, my best friends and I are parting ways with the girl I once called my best friend. It does hurt and it feels like any other breakup but ultimately it’s for the best. The memories will last even if there aren’t any new ones being made. And I know that we’ll all be fine because this is how it was supposed to be. As long as you have the few people that truly matter you’ll never be dissatisfied.

So, does anyone still have the same friends that they did when they were twelve? Maybe. And that’s great for you. You should both win a best friends award and celebrate with a movie marathon and some pizza. But if you don’t? It’s nothing to stress over. Life happens and sometimes you just have to let it. My other three friends with whom I'm close were also friends I met when I was twelve/thirteen and our bond has only strengthened. It's a toss up. 

Thank you Stand By Me and Stephen King for showing me the way it would be even if I didn’t believe it for a long time.