Just Need a Little Because Because

My sister and I have shared a long held belief that our 30's will be the period of our lives that we hold in highest regard.

Birth to 20 certainly is too early into a life's career to be its pinnacle. All the firsts must be experienced. Puberty must be contended with. Brain cells must continue to grow.

20-29 surely cannot be the prime of life either. This seems to be a decade filled with strife, poverty, indecision, exploration, regret, and disillusionment. This is where the ideals of early adulthood give way to the realities of adulthood.

And so, my sister and I have felt that 30-39 must be the highlight of a biographical timeline. Still young enough to be active, established enough to be comfortable, old enough to have grown into your skin. I look forward to my 30's for all of these reasons. I look forward to being without the insecurities of my 20's, to finally feel settled and accomplished. I believe my sister and I will not be disappointed.

However, there is one facet of my 30's which I think will still be sorely lacking: a sense of experience. I have a terrible problem with life decisions. Large and impactful life decisions are made on a whim and quickly; for instance, I may wake up one morning and simply decide to drop out of school or quit my job or move out-of-country. These decisions are always as much a surprise to myself as they are to those around me. On the other hand, I have a great deal of trouble making mundane decisions. Do I want Diet Dr. Pepper or Diet Coke? How seriously should I consider shifting my wardrobe towards business casual? Am I really the sort of person who wants to drive a Volvo? These minor life choices are the ones that plague me and cause the majority of my unneccessary unhappiness. I cannot imagine that I will have solved the mystery of these indecisions before my 39th birthday.

I spent a great deal of time on Friday considering how to get around this problem. Who? Who is beyond these petty worries? Oprah? Of course, Oprah was the obvious answer. That woman is miraculous. But, after careful deliberation, I realized that I could not use Oprah as the solution to my perspective problem. Everyone wants to be Oprah. Besides, idolizing Oprah is too idyllic - what does it mean to want to be Oprah outside of wanting to be rich, influential, philanthropic, approachable, personable, popular, and lovely? I can generate as many adjectives as I want, but none of them will teach me how to reach a sense of stability in my life choices.

There are two groups of people, by my reckoning, that seem to take life's little crises in stride. There are two groups of people who seem to be able to handle the minor decisions of life with ease and grace, without minimizing the importance of those decisions. These two groups of people are old Chinese men and post-menopausal American Jewish women.

Why? Why are old Chinese men so serene? The obvious solution: tai chi. A lifetime of peaceful mediation, balanced movement, controlled power. An alternative solution: Taoism. A perspective on life that encourages seeking harmony and inaction. A medicinal solution: acupuncture. A lifetime of pinpoint tension release is bound to have its effects.


Why? Why are post-menopausal American Jewish women so level-headed? The obvious solution: the Torrah. A lifetime of experience realizing that if a passage is too dense to be understood, it will be discussed again next year. An alternative solution: heritage. A history of religious and ethnic persecution culminating in a worldview that allows for true anxiety to be reserved for the truly pressing.



Why? Why are these two groups the only ones exempt from these pitfalls? What do they have in common? I believe I have the answer:

Mah jong.

That's right. Mah jong. I am not referring to the popular solitare versions of mah jong that are out there, pyramids of illustrated tiles eliminated one pair at a time. I am referring to the ancient game of tiles. Four people sit around a table, designated as East, West, North, and South. These compass points then take turns, discarding and picking up tiles, trying to create a set of fourteen tiles that will win the game. Beyond these basics, I have no idea how to play this game. It is an utter mystery to me. I do not know what the tiles are called, any of the rules, or even if game play is clockwise or counter. All I know is that mah jong is the answer.

Old Chinese men and post-menopausal American Jewish women play mah jong. Lots of it. They play it long. They play it true. They play it often. They sit around in groups of four, playing a quick and exciting game of chance. They gamble, whether it be with small antes or favors or matchsticks. They play. They socialize. They have perspective.

I want that. I want to have a group of young women like myself to play mah jong with. I want a group of women like myself to pretend with. I want to sit around and play mah jong, pretending that we have already been through it all. A couple hours a month of relaxation and perspective, even if it is only through an act of fantastic escapism. I want that. I want that for three of my closest friends. I am already fed up with all the why's in my life. I want to give up my wherefore's early. I am ready to trade in my why's and wherefore's a set of little plastic tiles.

I suppose we all need what we need.

My Sorrows Swim

Chris Knight has been lying to me, and I am not entirely emotionally prepared to handle the repercussions.

A part of my formative years were spent with Val Kilmer at the pinnacle of his bleached-blonde glory in Real Genius. This movie taught me everything I know about being a smart person. It taught me I could be brilliant and casual, doggedly bookish and comically irreverent, blow the bell curve and emit sex appeal. Chris Knight gave me hope that I could be smart and cool at the same time.

But most of all, Real Genius instilled in me a sense that there was something inherently necessary in being brilliant. Sure, we are encouraged to get good grades, make the honor roll, get into a good college and all that. But there is a glass ceiling to precisely how smart we want our smart kids to be. We have as many stigmatized labels for smart people as we do the truly inept. Americans simply do not trust people who are too smart, too educated. Straight A's are congratulated but curve-breakers are disparaged. Be smart enough to make a living in marketing, but not smart enough to hold the patents on marketable items . There is a careful balance between being a good student and being a social outcast, and not the television caricatures of cheerleaders versus geeks. Chris Knight was my role model. He knew that, come hell or high water, the world would always come back to its upper 2%.

The same thing that has made your life miserable can make it great: your brain. When you're smart, people need you; and you can learn how to work that for fun and profit.

And I believed him. Chris Knight convinced me as easily as he convinced his naive compatriot, Mitch. I was sold all the way to the Jiffy Pop real estate crescendo that gave way to Tears for Fears finally welcoming me to my life.

So, how did I end up over-educated? I skimmed over high school; I puddle-jumped across college; I am fast on my way to multiple doctorate. I have a nice little vitae to supplement the transcripts and such. And with all this on my side, what great career have I attained? None. Oh sure, I am employed. But it is a job, not a career - a few years of experience without insurance or permanence. I struggle to pay my bills, let alone begin a substantive savings account. All these years I have been working towards a promise that intellect would prove an investment.

The worst of it is that it seems to run in the family. I have an uncle who was faced with similar problems in the 70's. His plight was so bad, Time Magazine ran a story on him.

Education

Too Many Doctors

Jun. 29, 1970

After five years of hard work at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, David Ernst, 26, will get his Ph.D. in August and emerge as one of the
best-trained young physicists in America. Unfortunately, that may not be enough
to assure him job security in his field.

Is that fucked, or what?

What was Chris Knight talking about? Even now I cannot seem to shake the notion that Chris was right and somehow I am not executing this plan correctly. Am I just being impatient and the call for my brain will be soon coming? Am I supposed to be seeking out a career through some diabolical Mensa career counseling service? I keep turning to Chris for guidance, carefully examining Lazlo's descent into the steam tunnels for keys, for clues. As far as I can tell, Chris' only comment is, "I drank what?"

Sorry, Chris. No amount of drink can drown these babies.