Friday 2 March 2018

Andre Reviews: Blossoming into a miserable adult

Welcome to the inaugural edition of Andre Reviews, a series of reviews without any necessary end, which will of course be subject to waning interest.

I must warn that this is written in a deeply subjective and inherently male tone. I say so not because I plan on asserting the above-mentioned themes, but because I am both writing in a personal capacity and am indeed a male. Apologies, I don't mean to offend, nor do I mean to sound too apologetic.

LATE TEENS:

The end of your high school career is in some manner the first time you should, and understandably feeling a sense of crisis. Depending on which corner of the earth you hail from, this could well be the beginning of a wonderful quarter life crisis.

I will, for the sake of some sort of structure, be referring to ages 16-18 in this section.

In my experience, one cannot hope to accurately categorise an entire age group of people with a level of accuracy even approaching "scientific", but I will do so regardless.

Waking up every morning in a home, eating breakfast, and putting on a school uniform to be transported by another, more responsible, older person to a place where someone else is covering the costs of your education, much like the house, food, and clothing. This is essentially the life, from a financial point of view. You are in the final vestibule, in the sense that you are almost a fully grown human approaching your full mental capacity, well done.

The most you or any sane parent can hope for at this point is that you are a) passing school b) haven't contracted an STD(I), and c) are not a self-entitled piece of shit. The common thought process at this stage revolves around performance related stress, be it academic, sport, or sexually, (some of these never leave) and successfully integrating yourself into a social circle that fulfills levels four and five of Mazlow's hierarchy of human needs: belonging and esteem.

You'll be unsurprised to find out that in between trying to coerce members of the opposite sex into wanting you to touch their holy gardens and being an adequate member of a state-run education system, many things fall by the way side and priorities become mixed up in a hormone fueled tundra the likes of which you will never again experience.

So when you leave high school you're in one of a few positions:

You either a) Have managed to navigate this all with relative ease, have been accepted to a wonderful university because you're so fucking great and everyone gasps at your ability to be soooo mature at such a young age.

b) Are still having a panic attack because you only just passed the simplest subjects you took, which were basic as hell because school is just such an oppressive space, so what if my shirt is untucked and my hair is untidy, I'M PASSING, WHAT ELSE DO YOU WANT, fuck sakes. The high you came off as you realise you actually have to make life altering decisions is really messing with the foundations of your adolescent philosophy

or c) You're nicely packed in the middle where sure, you're stressed about what you want to do with your life, I mean you have an idea, your parents are really pushing for you to do a BCom but you've always really enjoyed computers, but you think you could follow your passion in the performing arts, but phew, your dad would be so disappointed if you studied the arts and ended up being a manager at a bar while you struggled to pay rent on a flat you share with a mate you made at university like your cousin Francis. Fuck that guy for ruining it for the rest of us. You're going to do the BCom, you'll be fine.

UNIVERSITY YEARS:

Hell's teeth, what a time to be alive, you're in the body shape you'll probably maintain until you're 35 and now either have a clearer picture of what you want from this life, or you've never been in a more psychologically unstable place, all these people around you figuring things out, and you, if it's even possible, are even further from finding a good answer to anything concerning your future.

My early twenties were an absolute rollercoaster, I went from knowing exactly where I wanted to be to having absolutely no idea on a weekly basis. I wanted love, I wanted knowledge, I wanted success, but didn't know how to measure what success meant to me personally, and in the end just tried to find a happy medium. The operative word there being happy, I wanted to be happy, buuuuuut happiness is a fleeting mistress if you're not sure about what lifelong happiness entails, or if it even exists.

The wonderful thing about this age is that you are still, kind of, allowed to fuck up every now and then. You can still explore, experiment, wonder about things that have no consequence, and generally just spend time getting to know yourself better as a young adult. Some of us strive forward and take huge bounds in the "right" direction, while other take tiny steps punctuated by giant piss-ups that end up with your poor, sweet mother having frank conversations with you when they see the marks on your knees and elbows, and the dark rings around your eyes on your idiotic hungover face.

The point being that you still have some modicum of freedom, you're still, in some ways, unadulterated you, which is a great way to be, but something you need to focus on holding onto when entering...

LIFE AS A WORKER BEE:

Bee's, I'm sure you've heard of them, have a very short life span, and exist to fulfill a single purpose for their hive until they die. Human life is far more cruel than that, as we have evolved to the point where we can ponder our purpose on earth to the point that we invent existentialism.

So now if you're among the always first-mentioned group of people who have somehow sauntered through this troubling period without silent shouting at your mirror once a week or been referred to as "that guy/girl who threw up all over the parking lot" a few times then bravo you smug twat.

Otherwise you'll likely be wondering what the fucking fuck all the fuss was about getting a job and earning money.

Sooo you're saying I do this thing, right, and then I get paid, and then the government takes 20% percent of that money, and then another 15% goes to my medical aid. This car? oh okay I need to insure that, and I need to put money away for when I'm retired, got it, and I'm suuuuper sick and tired of staying with may parents who raised, fed, and educated me for the last 22 years so I'm living in a flat with a friend now. That's costing about 30% of your starting salary if you're lucky. Food, that's a good couple of grand a month, and to even get to your new job means you need to pay for transport, whether it's petrol or public transport. It's probably easier to just slip into insanity and let the government pay for you to be pumped full of drugs until you die, but most people don't do that, oddly enough.

So there you are in a job you tolerate because, you know, this is how it is, and you get maximum six hours of sleep a night. HAHAHAHA, just kidding, you don't have the mental stability to fall asleep when you "should" fall asleep, you're probably getting about four hours. All the while you're wondering whaaaaat the fuuuuuck is the point of all this. Why didn't you study performing arts and just do open mic nights and write freelance enough just to get by, at least you'd be happy. Would you be though? That's another step into the unknown, that's more uncertainty. You've already got this flat, and you can't bail on your friend, they need your portion of the rent.

Then you're at work, and Janet asks you for a thing, and you're like, suuuuuuure thing, Janet, I'm all over it. But in your head you have no fucking idea what "it" even is, but you're new, and nervous, and people think you know how to do things you don't know how to do, and you're breaking out in cold sweats because you've asked Jessica for help three times today already and she looks SUPER busy with whatever it is that she does again, it seems important because she's 29 and has permanent frown lines.

What I'm saying is that it can be a complex period. It isn't for everyone, naturally, but for many it means you just have to find ways to healthily adapt to your new surroundings and find joy in the little things like humour, genuine human interaction, good friends, weekends, hobbies, and perhaps if you're lucky, a partner who loves you.

Even though the title of this post is Blossoming into a miserable adult, the point is to try your best not to. So for overall effort vs overall reward, just keep doing whatever you want, disappoint your parents, and wake up in a shit place with a smile on your face.

3/10. 














  

Andre Reviews: Blossoming into a miserable adult

Welcome to the inaugural edition of Andre Reviews, a series of reviews without any necessary end, which will of course be subject to waning ...