The pursuit of it all, or something like that.

Last night I had dinner with an old and close friend, someone who has shared with me many of the same and many of the similar experiences that shape a general attitude on life.

And because of the way we often relate, the topic of the future came up.

She’s staying here and I am going there. She is trying to decide between going to school and applying for jobs and I have already set my path. In the space between these differences, however, lives uncertainty.

I tried to tell her that it’s easiest to cut losses and make a decision. Decision brings purpose, purpose brings goals, and goals imply that you are a legitimate person with a reasonable life strategy. Attribute a fancy job title, school affiliation or 5-year plan to your name and all of a sudden, you achieve “status.”

Then I tried to make myself believe that. I realized that I really have no idea what the next year or two will bring.

By cutting my losses, am I cutting myself off from the “other” person I could be?

I hate to think “what if,” which is why I’ve become a firm believer in going on the feeling, whether it’s in life, career, and most of all, love.

We sipped on her father’s homemade wine and took solace in the fact that because nothing had yet begun for either of us, we could still live like we had infinite choices.

But perhaps because of how my life has been shaped over the course of the past year and 5 months, I have started to develop the stubborn outlook that life is indeed all too finite.

A recent post on the New York Times’ “Happy Days” blog refers to this feeling of having to look back and wonder what it would be like if you had chosen a different path. Though the writer attributes this phenom, which he calls the “Referendum,” more to a middle-aged sect, he acknowledges the beginnings are in your 20s.

Young adulthood is an anomalous time in people’s lives; they’re as unlike themselves as they’re ever going to be, experimenting with substances and sex, ideology and religion, trying on different identities before their personalities immutably set. Some people flirt briefly with being freethinking bohemians before becoming their parents. Friends who seemed pretty much indistinguishable from you in your 20s make different choices about family or career, and after a decade or two these initial differences yield such radically divergent trajectories that when you get together again you can only regard each other’s lives with bemused incomprehension.

I’ve blogged about similar feelings before. Whether it’s the choice to go to school, live at home, choose a career, strap on a backpack, date someone new or simply grow up, the 20-something world is scary and uncertain. How are we supposed to act when the rules of propriety differ for everyone?

I am about to embark on a small adventure that could permanently alter my life. What if I had chosen to stay in Philadelphia and work? What if I had moved to New York City? What if I am ignoring a sign that I should be pushing to the forefront?

Though I have become more cynical as life has thrown its share of curveballs, I still believe in fate and attributing significance to coincidence. Not all the time, but most of it.

Should I have settled for something different? Should I be in a committed relationship or should I have been in one in college? Much to the chagrin of some family members and family friends, perhaps. That’s just never been me.

All of us have lain awake at night wondering “what if.” Where does that wondering stop and when does true satisfaction set in?

Sidenote: This feeling is explored in depth throughout the movie “500 Days of Summer,” which is an awesome movie. And it was a huge hit at Sundance 2009. I’ll include the trailer, just because I probably need to insert some interaction into this post to keep you from snoring off.

I don’t mean to make it seem as if my life is unrewarding, because I have shared in countless occasions, events and daily experiences that have made me wish that not only my choices but I too were infinite.

Simply, the end of traditional education brings the impending notion that time does exist and it moves faster than youth. I sometimes still feel like I am blowing out the candles on my 16th birthday cake in the basement of my house, surrounded by 20 of my Merion friends.

I think the Referendum can be applied to any age, in fact.

Yes: the Referendum gets unattractively self-righteous and judgmental. Quite a lot of what passes itself off as a dialogue about our society consists of people trying to justify their own choices as the only right or natural ones by denouncing others’ as selfish or pathological or wrong. So it’s easy to overlook that hidden beneath all this smug certainty is a poignant insecurity, and the naked 3 A.M. terror of regret.

The problem is, we only get one chance at this, with no do-overs. Life is, in effect, a non-repeatable experiment with no control.

As we all embark on this journey together, I think it’s okay to look at the person next to you and wonder if you too could be like him or her. But then look at your own life and realize how powerful you are when it comes to making the choice to be not only good, but awesomely infinite, in the figurative sense.

Celebrities, Happiness, and Post Grad

People stalk you on the street. You’re gorgeous, you’re well-dressed and you’re at the top of the it restaurant’s VIP list. Oh, and those Christian Louboutin pumps that are “waiting list only” at Barneys? You’re wearing them.

And no, you’re not a star of NYC Prep. In fact, you’d never deign to be on that show.

You’re a celebutante. You always have a job and your identity is handed to you. In fact, you live on Easy Street. I know this may or may not draw accusations of “everyone has their problems,” etc., but come on. This would be nice compared to living in your childhood room and scraping up money to enjoy a few nights out with friends.

Due to the boredom and stress of life post-college, I’ve started to think that I would be okay with being a famous person. And many people, both male and female (and don’t deny this, because it’s very, very true), would love to be a celebrity.

Celebrity status means a few great things, and by a few great things I mean unlimited money, unlimited access and unlimited good looks. Money and good fortune can’t always buy you happiness, but it can buy you a few things to keep you occupied in your quest for it.

I was going to use this post to discuss the growing ratio of misconstrued celebrity women (think: Kate Gosselin, Sarah Palin, Lindsay Lohan, Jennifer Aniston), but I gave that up when I realized my name isn’t Perez Hilton or Chelsea Handler.

Nor do I have a job, like Perez or Chelsea. And that’s really what this blog is about – an exploration of what it means to search for your identity when identity is no longer handed to you in the form of a school id and an emblem embroidered sweatshirt.

I always assumed that the next step would involve money, and then happiness. Many studies suggest that money can affect your happiness if you actually spend it on life experiences, which I wholeheartedly agree with. A writer from the blog Cranky Fitness, which I linked above, says the following:

I think the real debate should be about things we buy for status, versus things we buy for our own comfort or pleasure or adventure. An “experiential” dinner eaten at a Trendy Restaurant is, in my mind, a lousy bargain if you only went because it seemed like a sophisticated thing to do. But a great book or a new kitchen gadget or a comfy pair of running shoes can be a great happiness bargain, if using them gives you pleasure.

I agree.

I also think that happiness for our generation, though, comes from figuring out what’s next. Maybe it’s because I’ve heard the Dawson’s Creek theme song five times over the past two weeks (I kid you not. I’ve counted. And it’s been in coffee shops, a beauty salon and my car), but I really think that if you don’t know what your plan is, it’s hard to even maintain a happy demeanor.

If that doesn’t make sense to you, and it probably doesn’t, here is the chorus from the song:

I don’t want to wait
For our lives to be over
I want to know right now
What will it be

In tandem with this song, my random celebrity rant and the happiness factor, a new movie is coming out aiming at what this blog is all about. My cousin, who happens to be blogging along a similar topic, just alerted me to the film “Post Grad.” It comes out this weekend and stares Alexis Bledel, one of my fav chic-actresses.

I cannot believe the timing of this film.

It’s about my life, and yours.

Decision.

Downstairs “foyer,” if my house had a foyer, 5:41 p.m.

A brown, rectangle box with my name and address on the front label sat on the dining room table. I picked up the box and shook it. Something jiggled.

I ripped open the box and extracted a tin cylinder bearing a striking resemblance to a popcorn container.

I really, really hope there’s caramel, I thought.

No caramel, or cheddar, but something better – an acceptance letter to the school I had just applied to for copywriting and art direction.

I guess I had to start thinking about joining the Circus.

Bedroom, 5:47 p.m.

After looking at the clock and realizing that six minutes was not a long time to think over such a life step, I decided to use my ultra-cool Blackberry to take pictures of the tin and send to some close confidants.

Their responses were varied, including “Wow! That’s sick!” to “What even is that?”

I looked at the picture. The light gave off a weird glare, so I retook. I still got “What even is that?” It was a popcorn tin, for heaven’s sake…with a school acceptance letter in it.

Bathroom, 5:52 p.m.

Holy shit, I was pale. My face was almost unrecognizable. Computer/fluorescent lighting face was highly unattractive, which explained why I had been getting “Not at the beach much, eh?” lately.

Car, 7:00 p.m.

I took the tin with me. I don’t know why, but when making an important life move as such I figured I needed to carry all tools necessary.

I showed my friends and they agreed it was the perfect next step for me. So why couldn’t I settle?

Bedroom, 1:00 a.m.

Naturally, I made a pro and con list.

Pros of staying in Illadelphia:
1. I can be close to home.
2. Um.

Pros of school:
1. Next step will be in full force.
2. Get a job much easier.
3. Meet new people and learn while doing it.
4. Do what I love.
5. Adopt a puppy.
6. Make something of myself/make my family proud.
7. Etc.

– One Week Later —

I made the decision. I’m moving to Atlanta to attend a really small school (200 kids) for copywriting and art direction, and to build a bad ass digital portfolio so I can work for a big shop.

Two years starts October 1.

Oh. God.

Lululicious Lifestyle

In a realitively spontaneous act, I applied for a job a week ago at Lululemon, a yoga-fitness store. It’s headquarters are in Canada. They sell overpriced yoga pants and accompanying attire, and burst the logo “Live Well.”

I have since ended my stint in the yoga world due to family commitments in Illy, but I still want to reflect on my first shot at a summer career.

Check them out (I actually really, really like their stuff): http://www.lululemon.com/community/blog/

Sure, it all makes sense. Buy an outfit, go to yoga and feel lululicious. I wonder, however, how people view a recent college graduate working in a yoga store to feed her material desires. For example, whilst unpacking boxes my first (and last) day, I almost could not resist the silky new pants and jackets that I was in charge of “tagging.” If you don’t know what tagging is, you can remain at peace with yourself.

While I practiced the art of “educating” the customers, I could picture my newly minted bachelor’s degree gathering dust.

The thought process behind taking the job resulted from the lack of opportunities currently available and the fact that Lulu pays for one-two fitness classes per week for all employees. For a former college athlete, that’s a pretty sweet deal.

I didn’t get to do this part, but every Lulu employee has to set goals. Their manifesto reads:

Write down your short and long-term GOALS four times a year. Two personal, two business and two health goals for the next 1, 5 and 10 years. Goal setting triggers your subconscious computer.

I guess triggering the concious computer isn’t enough. I’ll do this exercise here.

HEALTH GOALS, for days when I choose to abhor hot dogs and salt and vinegar chips (shudder).
1. Drink 2-3 water bottles per day. By this I mean drink water out of my awesome, newly purchased, stainless steel bottle from Starbucks. I feel healthier just from looking at its glorious black-steel exterior.
2. Exercise 5 times a week. This is hard for me, especially in the summer. For all of those who are under the impression that I run daily, you’re wrong. Just because you frequently spotted me hauling my oversize derriere down Beach Road more often than not, I followed that up with a nice sit on the deck and a bowl of Annie’s. I know beautiful days encourage others to work out more, but sometimes I find myself heading straight for the pool chair. Note: I say pool because I do in fact belong to the neighborhood swim club. There is no beach here, just exhaust fumes and overly chlorinated water. Plus, I need to maintain my “I’m semi-thin and I still drink like I was in college” form.

BUSINESS, because it’s all about the benjamins, baby.
1. Get a job. No, but seriously. I’ve been after this for months, and isn’t that what this self-proclaimed “blog” is about anyway? I will eat my hat for a job. In fact, I’ll eat yours. I even have my resume printed on fancy paper. That’ll show ‘em.
2. Once getting said job, attempt in every way, shape and form to move up the presumed corporate ladder. I’ve always wondered – how can a ladder be corporate? I think the phrase should be “move up the corporate…belt. Like, make a notch on the ol’ belt. Or…not.

PERSONAL GOALS
Well. That’s personal, isn’t it?

Now that I have sufficiently reflected on the few days of lululicious living, I can honestly say that that job was in the top five worst employee experiences of my life.

I’m only 22, though. I’m sure I’ll have more.