The Post Grad Life: Quarter Life Crisis in the Midst of Happy Hour

The lighting in the bar was perfectly dim for a Friday night, helping to hide every outlandish thought in my increasingly fuzzy head. I only say “fuzzy” because I was deep into my 32 oz. Blue Moon, and — let me tell you — when you practically mainline a Blue Moon after forgetting to eat all day, something magical happens. I was sitting with one of my most fabulous of friends. You know the type, the kind of friend you can relate to 100%…same relationship status, same occupation, same morals, same dreams. Same undeniable love for happy hour and that joyful golden feeling you get after a sip of mug beer.
We were talking dramatically about our lives, per usual. The conversation started fresh while our minds were clear and we were authentically happy to be out.
I love our lives. We are saving money and being smart by living at home. We are single and excited to be independent; who needs a guy anyway? We are fabulous just as we are! We are funny and sweet, honest and – isn’t it fun to be 20-something! Nobody can really stop us, we can do whatever we want with our lives!  We’ve got buckets of time!

Then it happened. We finished our noggin-sized beers and stared at each other with glassy eyes. Our arms sat lazily at our sides, our minds essentially roamed unattended and the conversation started to become irrational as we grew increasingly worried about life-in-general. Our sanctuary of positive thoughts had quickly become a war zone, and nothing could keep us from negative-bombing the hell out of it.
So and so didn’t text me back after I apologized for hurting his feelings. We need to make an itinerary of things we want to accomplish by the end of this month. Do you think we could publish our own book and pull a mega loan out for an editor? I’m thinking about going blonde again, I hate what I’ve got going on now. I think I over-drafted on my bank account because I don’t make enough money and now I’m using my credit card for another brew. I paid $700 in loans this month. I don’t make nearly enough money. I’m tired of living at home. I want to be more independent. Oh my gosh. I’m all alone and I live in my parent’s basement. I’m actually panicking right now. I think. I think this is a panic attack.
Then we stopped talking and let our words kinda simmer in the air. And I sh*t you not, I started to tear up in the middle of the bar. I wish I were kidding. I wish I weren’t such an emotional wreck of a hot mess 24-year-old. But we sat there, looking at each other with watery eyes and started CRYING.
Ok, not openly ugly crying. But enough to make the executive decision to leave. We ran to my car and dove in. That’s when the tears came like a hurricane.
“OH MY GOD I CAN’T BELIEVE I’M CRYING,” we both yelled into each other’s faces. “HUG ME PLEASE.”
So we hugged and rocked back and forth. This pathetic post college flood had never hit me this hard. I couldn’t believe I was sitting in my car after happy hour bawling like I had in Toys R’ Us when my mom told me I couldn’t buy another creepy stuffed animal. And we were CRYING. I’m not just saying a few tears. This was two grown woman hiccuping in a car, holding each other.
Needless to say, I drove home after we laughed hysterically at our break down. I scooped up a bunch of snow and literally rubbed it all over my face to stop the under-eye swelling from the salty hot mess of tears. We decided everything was going to be OK. Sometimes, vulnerability takes charge and little flecks of insecurity will get the best of you. The fear of the unknown (what does my future entail) absolutely throws people our age for a loop. And dealing with it in tears isn’t always a bad thing.
I’m telling this embarrassing story for a reason. If you need to have a good cry with your best friend in public, let it be. Life will get figured out eventually, and there is nothing wrong with that.

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