I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but whenever I’m drunk and vent to my girls, like any confused 25-year-old, I try to analyze my issues. They all tell me, “You’re going through your quarter-life crisis. Don’t worry, you're attractive! You’ll find a man.”
Really? Does “Mr. Right” heal all inner issues? Because if he does, I’ll take two! My grandmother always tells me, “It’s not about just finding someone who makes you happy, because they don’t take ‘happy’ at the grocery check out.” I think she means you must have security and commitment in a relationship to go along with how “happy” a man can make you.
I cannot deny the diagnosis from my friends about the quarter-life crisis. I need something to explain these hot flashes of memories, feeling how free of spirit I was when walking the Great Wall of China, or departing that 747 in Tokyo ready to start a new life in Asia. For some reason, that feeling of not knowing what’s to come felt so much better when I was further away. In America, there are too many knowns in the paths and outcomes, and it's hard to relinquish any of them. I just don't like 25. There’s all the pressure to keep things amped up, but also a new inner desire (or rush) to settle down a bit… put up curtains, take a full time job, or come out with a cookbook. I don’t know why I suddenly desire to be a housewife.
Since I moved back from Japan six months ago, time has really slowed down, and has made me uber-sensitive and critical of my endeavors. The other night I joined fellow monsters at Lady Gaga’s Artrave, and it was the best two hours I’ve had this year. There was a part of me that came alive during dancing with half-naked Monsters up and down that arena staircase in go-go attire with high boots. I felt like myself again! And I began to think, what path of those I’m considering would give me this much fulfillment every day? Is there a PhD track in living for the applause?
Some context for my struggle: by the time I turned 25, I’d lived in three countries, become a published author, and was in love one really wonderful time. Life has been eventful in all the ideal ways for me until now; up to this moment I always felt fulfilled or just too high on life to stop and realize: bitch, you’re lonely and your hair is falling out! Reality sometimes catches up to you like those bills you look at and say, “I’m not going to pay this.” That excitement of being young, grown, and free of responsibility has created this insane drive in me to explore the world through my high-intensity terms, with even reflection time just penciled in.
I watched Gaga straddle her piano, amongst 12,000 people, clearly exemplifying the outcome of the “American dream” at its fullest potential. Just then she glanced at my section, played a soft key, and said, “Your life is a big massive piece of artwork that you control. You need to see that first.” Gaga’s album ARTPOP may not be such a failure after all.
Twenty-five is the first age where I’ve had some sort of time on my hands to really evaluate what I should do next. When you set out to define success for yourself, shit gets in the way to make you feel further from where you’re destined to go. Unfortunately that's life; always a test, struggle, or fight to prove what you want is worth it. And oh yeah, as every mentor says: it only gets harder!
—Find Chaz at http://www.iammylife.org