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Quarter-life crisis or just Tough Choices - Quarter-life crisis or just Touch Choices |
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Written by Erin Frustaci and McClatchy Tribune
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Thursday, 16 November 2006 |
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Page 2 of 5
30: Learning how to live all over again a column by Shannon Wolfe.
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Shannon Wolfe
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Lately, when someone asks my age, I’ve been telling them that I’m old enough to know better and too young to care. Translation: I just turned 30, and I don’t think it’s necessary to advertise it to the world. It’s not that I’m embarrassed about being 30. I’m just not used to it. Turning 30 is a confusing time, almost like a second adolescence. I am not quite ready to let go of the carefree ways of the 20-something, yet the idea of being older, smarter and more sophisticated appeals to me. I’m in this baffling phase of life where I’m a bit too old and a bit too young for a lot of things.
Take dating for instance. Who the hell am I supposed to date? In terms of physical attraction, nothing gets my engines revving like a guy in his early 20s. I can scarcely walk past a hot young thing without thinking lewd thoughts. I am, after all, in my sexual peak. Young guys are sexy, exciting and, most of all, fun. So what if their version of a “really nice dinner” is Bennigan’s? They can party like rock stars. This is all well and fine if your greatest responsibility is making it to class on time and mom pays your bills and does your laundry.
At 30, I have a lot more to think about. Speaking of thinking, that’s the other problem with young guys. When the bottle of Tequila is empty and the romp around their tacky bedroom is done, what do you say to each other? “Oh I love what you’ve done with this place that you share with five other filthy guys who you barely know.” How do you relate to someone who was graduating from high school while you were navigating your first marriage and having a baby? What I find most alarming about dating younger guys is the way they view me. I am now the older lady — the cougar. If you aren’t savvy, cougar is a term used to label good-looking, “older” women who prey on the sexual desires of men in their early twenties. Don’t get me wrong; the term isn’t an insult, and I feel the power of my sexiness when I’m on the prowl. Still, I experience a bit of shock every time one of these guys reassuringly tells me that he “likes older women.” It’s not like I’m 60.
Then there’s older guys. Guys with good jobs, nice cars and a 401(k). If they’re old enough, the 401(k) is probably pretty well established, like the rest of their life.
They’ve had enough time to figure out who they are and what they want, and the successful ones have it. Older guys exude a certain confidence that’s sexy and intriguing, maybe even a bit mysterious. Unfortunately, their ego has also had time to develop and they tend to be condescending. Where I feel like the most intellectually superior creature on the planet when I’m with a 20-something, the dynamic swings drastically in the other direction with the older guy. Suddenly, I am listening to patronizing advice on how to handle the difficulties of life, and I want to vomit at their assumption that I am a lost young woman with no experience of my own to rely on. It’s insulting.
While young men see me as infinite in my worldly wisdom, older men only want to bore me with theirs. Still, they are capable of intelligent conversation which is a necessity of life by the time your 30. But, by the time they’ve figured that out how to converse intelligently, they’ve usually lost track of how to have unrestrained fun. If only they could still remember how to do body shots of tequila.
So what about music? I’m “generationally” split there as well. I adore listening to Miles Davis and Charlie Parker cranking out fantastic jazz. It soothes my soul. I also love the respite and serenity I find in classical music — it doesn’t matter which song, it all works the same for me. On the flip side, it’s not uncommon to find me in my car bobbing my head to the bass line of the hottest newest hip-hop song. I was in my teens when hip-hop exploded onto the music scene. I still love it, always will. I can rap along with Tupac with the best of them. The difference is that when I do it at 30 years of age, I get odd stares. As if I am simply too lady-like and refined to be belting out, “Picture me rollin’ motherf*%#%*!”
OK, so music and men aside, what about nightlife? There’s a challenge for ya’. The variety of settings I find myself in is amusing in its diversity. I live in a college town, so if I go to the local bars the night entails a booze fest that proceeds as if prohibition was going to start at midnight. Drinks are not to be enjoyed, only consumed. Everyone in the bar looks the same. College guys are in jeans, their “nicest” shirt, and flip flops — they’ve dressed up for the night. The 20-something girls are flitting about in miniscule bits of fabric they call clothing — everything but the kitchen sink exposed. The level of intoxication is, well, intoxicating, and it isn’t long before I find myself as drunk, if not drunker, than everyone there. I figure that the first time I got drunk they were still playing with Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and Barbies so who gives a shit if I act more absurd than they do.
I behave a little more respectably in bars where people my age and older congregate. Where I live, this almost always entails a lounge, an ultra-lounge to be exact. Again, if you’re not savvy, an ultra-lounge is the modern version of a lounge, but with bottle service and popular music. The unspoken dress code is considerably more polished than that of the college bar. Women actually have clothes on and there is something left to the imagination, and men are dressed appropriately for the evening — dress shirt, sport coat, you get the idea. Other than the attire, the other major difference is the level of jadedness. You can meet any number of well-to-do men in these places, but instead of looking at you with the lascivious eye of a 20-something, they look at you with caution. They’ve all been burned and are hauling more luggage than a DC-10. While the college bars are meat-markets, true, there is innocence to the hunt. They just want to have fun. This is not so in the lounge. The opposite sex has a calculated agenda and they are considering you from every angle. It’s really just too much work. And besides, everyone is there to get drunk and get laid, just like in the college bar, but now there is pretense — an effort to seem as if this is not the object of being there. It’s silly. And if I venture into a more sophisticated bar, where the patrons are in their 40s or 50s, I can find interesting people to talk to and I can affect some interest in their recent financial acquisitions or whatever. But the novelty wears off after my fourth martini when I just want to lose myself in the music on the dance floor of an outrageously oversized nightclub.
I even get confused about what the hell to wear sometimes. I may be 30, but my body can compete with any 20-year-old’s (OK maybe not all of them, but I can hold my own), so I still look good in the trendy garments that younger girls wear. And I like fashion, so I am predisposed to wanting to keep up with the trends. But you have to be careful when you’re 30. You can’t look like you’re trying too hard. It’s tricky. No one wants to be the pathetic 30-year-old lady who just can’t give up the juniors department. And I do love the fine fabrics of the well made garments in high-end boutiques that cater to the polished, refined, mature woman. I like sauntering around in business suits and dress shirts. I just don’t like feeling ancient when I’m doing it, and until designers figure out that sophisticated doesn’t mean matronly, it’s going to be tough to find anything decent to wear.
Then there’s the whole sex thing. This part really isn’t fair. Now that I’m 30, I’m well on my way to my sexual peak. I have finally figured out just what it takes for sex to be enjoyable and I’m not afraid to ask for it. I am like a well trained soldier ready to conquer the enemy. There’s just one problem. Two actually. I’ve suddenly developed the self respect I was lacking in my 20s, and I now have taste. I can no longer use mere physical attraction as motivation to sleep with someone. I have to actually like their personality and be able to envision spending quality time with them. It’s so annoying. My body wants to conquer the free world, and my mind is too stuck up to let it.
More than any of these reason though, the hardest part about turning 30 is realizing that I haven’t accomplished everything I planned to. I’m not the ultra successful CEO of a major corporation and I don’t spend my weekends on exotic islands. I’m not happily married to the most exquisite, wealthy man on the planet. I don’t even have a date for Friday night. I’m just regular old me, taking life as it comes, one day at a time. When I was in my 20s I still felt like anything was possible — still had that youthful notion that if you could dream it, it could happen. I’m old enough now to know that life isn’t a fairytale. It’s hard work and nothing is guaranteed — not even your dreams. I accept that — I’m just not used to it.
Shannon lives in Fort Collins with her 6-year-old daughter Shanelle. She studies Technical Journalism at Colorado State University and serves as Public Relations Director for Greeley Harley-Davidson/Honda/Yamaha.
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