Sex and the City fucked me up. I always had this fantasy that the first time I lived on my own I’d have this creative, forward-thinking career, glam friends, and a hot-rod boyfriend to compliment my stylish lifestyle. It was entirely realistic that a newspaper writer could have a lifestyle that afforded her both designer clothes and a swanky night on the town. Essentially, I thought that by the age of 27, I’d be a sexy, boss bitch who was kicking ass and taking names. What a cosmic joke that was!
Living on your own is hard. Really. Fucking. Hard.
Naively, I still had hope in the beginning that everything would work itself out. Can’t cook? That’s fine, I’ll learn. Long distance relationship? That’s fine, I’ll travel back and forth frequently. Underpaid? That’s fine, I’ll work hard and prove myself. So many things I believed only required my will and determination and presto! I’d have the resolution I so desired. And to some degree, I still believe that. (hello! Naïve party of 1), but mostly, things happen, like my promotion, at a much slower pace than I need them to.
Living in California is wonderful, beautiful, and everything Hollywood portrays it to be. It’s also very expensive for a tiny box called an apartment! I live paycheck to paycheck, and unfortunately, I’m still young enough in my career that the big bucks are a few years off. The care-free lifestyle I had while living with my parents isn’t sustainable anymore. The learning curve for being financially responsible, being timely with paying bills, and learning how to cook is much steeper. And holy shit, it’s stressful.
I think every person out there in my position can agree that balancing a social life, or at least what you can afford, and a bank account for bills is the hardest task one can undertake in their twenties. Add to that, a desire to eat healthy and nutritiously, but unable to cook and an emaciated budget for grocery shopping, and the entire thing has turned said fantasy into a nightmare.
Which brings me back to my earlier statement, my fantasy of living like Carrie is looking more like Oscar the Grouch these days. My struggles against the self-actualization and accomplishments of my peers leaves something to be desired. I want to be fab, but at this stage in my life, the challenges are stacked against me. But again, I remain hopeful. Every day is a new day. Right?
Girl in this World