Where's My Quarter-Life Chrysalis?
Papi, I need to get my mojo back.
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¡Hola Papi!
The situation goes like this: my best friend just moved to my city (we've been apart since graduating college 3 years ago) and I'm so incredibly happy. Not only did she move across the country, but she broke up with her serious boyfriend in the process (he was ready to settle down, she was not) and is now about to get a new job too. On a recent trip to New York to see our other friends, we were all celebrating how glowing and happy she seemed, and joked that she was having the opposite of a quarter-life crisis: a quarter-life chrysalis.
While I'm thrilled for her, it got me thinking about the persistent slumber I feel like I’ve been in for the past few years, even when accounting for the pandemic. It’s not quite chronic depression, but I feel like I’ve lost my mojo. I’ve been in this city, with the same job and partner since graduating and can’t help but wonder: how can I fashion a quarter-life chrysalis for myself? Do I need a move, a breakup, a new job? How do I shake the dust off?
Signed,
Larval Lady
Hey there, LL!
You know, I’m used to hearing from people who are terrified of change, so this is a pleasant surprise. You’re actively courting it!
Broadly speaking, I know how you feel. You mentioned dust, and I think that’s the perfect visual. Sometimes it feels like things are just a bit too settled, like we haven’t moved anything around in a while and a thin film of apathy has covered our lives, making us, more or less, furniture. For me, an example is a bit literal. It’s my apartment, which, to be honest, I could stand to dust off.
Is it super clean? Is it shiny? Does it still give me that little twinge of satisfaction I felt when I first moved in and decorated it? No. But it’s home, and I have my little way of doing things. It’s a little disordered, but I know where everything is (or at least I do most of the time). I cook my little dinners and eat them at my little table where I usually have unopened mail sitting in a not-so-little pile. The books on my shelves are a bit crooked. My rug has not aged well.
But nonetheless, there’s a rhythm I have going here in my apartment, and it functions fine for me, week by week. But we don’t just want life to function, right, LL? A rhythm alone isn’t enough. We want lyrics. Poetry. A bass drop. Music! We want the fantastic, and the thing about the fantastic is, by nature, it lies outside of our quotidian affairs. It’s out there, beckoning us to chase it.