In Which "Success" Is A Four-Letter Word

If "schadenfreude" is the word for the wonderful happy feeling you get when something bad happens to someone else, what is the term for when someone else's happiness makes you feel like shit?

I was on the second leg of my two-bus commute to work yesterday afternoon, reading a magazine, when I noticed the article I was perusing was written by someone with whom I had graduated from college. We had been somewhat-friends when we were freshmen, until this person did something which I had considered tantamount to a betrayal of my trust. Ever since, though I was always cordial in their presence, I never again entertained any sort of fondness for them. Fast forward five years: we are a year out of college, I am on my way to my part-time job, and what do I see but a definite indication of this person's success?

My initial reaction, of course was, "Fuck. We're one year out of college, and this person is writing for a nationally-acclaimed and highly respected magazine, while I'm nowhere closer to even having an idea of what I want to do with my life." That feeling, I can tell you, is a day-ruiner. But I knew it was my primitive brain talking (my primitive brain is prone to swearing) and soon my intellectual brain kicked in: how, it rationalized, can I even compare my own success with this person's, when our goals are so drastically different? I may not be entirely sure what, exactly, my life goal is, but journalism it is not. I ruled that one out a long time ago. The comparison, therefore, is illogical.

As the day went on, I was eventually able to kick that initial feeling of crappiness and align myself with my intellectual brain's argument. But the truth is that success is so much easier to measure in other people than in oneself. Others may sweat and toil to achieve their goals, but if they do, their peers rarely see it. It is assumed that success is merely handed to them, while we ourselves, like so many Sisyphuses, continue to struggle with no end in sight. In a way, my primitive brain, in its crazy outburst of emotion, made some kind of sense.

I'd like to say that I've learned my lesson and I will never compare myself to other people again and I will live happily ever after, the end. But that's not true. Even when (and if) I do reach my goal - whatever that goal may be - I'll probably still compare my success to others', because that's part of the human condition, the pain of progress. So the grass will continue to be greener in someone else's yard. What I can hope for, though, is that I'll be able to see that mine is plenty green enough.

In Which Facebook Acts As The Messenger Of Hymen

[Hymen: in ancient Greek mythology, Hymen (or Hymenaeus) was the god of marriage.]

Last night I logged on to Facebook, as I (regrettably) do more than once in a twenty-four hour period. As do many people, I have a very love-hate relationship with every twentysomething's favorite social networking site: it allows me to keep up with the lives of people I might otherwise have lost touch with. On the other hand, it allows me to keep up with the lives of people I might otherwise have lost touch with. It's a double-edged sword.

In any case, as I began to scour my News Feed for tidbits of information I desperately needed/didn't need at all, I came upon a thumbnail of a picture of a friend from high school and her boyfriend. My friend and I were fairly close in our high school days, but as is wont to happen, drifted apart after we went to college, and (as is also wont to happen) have maintained what is left of our friendship by sporadically contacting one another through - wait for it - Facebook. Now, this picture wouldn't have caught my fancy had it not been for the fact that my friend, with her boyfriend's arm around her, had her left hand laid across his chest. I recognized it immediately as prime bling-displaying position.

I clicked the thumbnail and, sure enough, there were three things staring back at me: a young man, a young woman, and a nice-sized rock on the young woman's ring finger. Now, my friend and her boyfriend have been together since we were all juniors in high school. Even then they were a sickeningly perfect couple, but so obviously meant for each other that it was impossible to begrudge them their happiness. They went to the same college and remained together throughout, so it's really been more a question of "when" than "if" regarding their marriage plans. Needless to say I am very happy for them; anyone who knows them has probably known for some time that this was going to happen. But as I looked at that picture I felt an entirely selfish, if unwanted, emotion: self-pity.

Now, for purposes of clarification, I should mention that I am in no way ready, nor do I now desire, to get married. I feel too young, and that there is still so much I want to do before doing that, and besides, the thought of living with someone every day for the rest of my life is currently unfathomable. It probably also has to do with the fact that I am not right now in love with another person. Just to get the record straight, however, I'm not looking to receive a ring anytime soon. But this is not the first Facebook engagement or marriage I have witnessed. In fact, this one comes closely on the heels of the marriage of my high school crush - the BIG high school crush, the one all my other crushes, had they known or cared, would have bowed down before. And, quite frankly, I'm getting tired of it.

I know I'm only 23, and that is very young. But (although exceptions must be allowed for the change of times) the thought has crossed my mind more than once that my mother, when she married my father, was 23. And now, it seems like all these people I know who are 22, 23, 24, are taking that step as well. I think what bothers me the most - and I shall try to make this succinct, as I think whining about one's love life is just about the most trite (and annoying) thing possible - is that for as long (and longer) as my friend and her now-fiance have been together, I have been single. The logical answer to this way of thinking is that in consideration of circumstances, it is ridiculous to compare onself to other people. But to that I say this: if I didn't compare myself to others, what kind of human would I be? Answer: none at all.

So to all the couples I know who have or are going to announce their nuptials on Facebook: accept my sincerest congratulations and wishes for happiness, but don't expect much sympathy from me beyond those initial wishes. Maybe, just maybe, you'll someday be able to ogle over my wedding photos electronically as I have done yours. Then again, I'm just not sure if a Facebook wedding is for me.

In Which You Can Go Home Again

I would like to begin by saying that I hope this will be the last of the quasi-emo posts for awhile. That said, this is a blog in which one of the main intentions is to chronicle my immediate after-college life, so whether I like it or not, some of the posts are going to have that nostalgic, almost pathetic, "where-is-my-life-going?" quality. I guess it comes with the territory.

Now that that's out of the way: yesterday I made my first "real" visit to school as an alum to see the Old Shit Show (and attend the subsequent cast party). My father would probably call this visit a "Triumphant Return," and I am glad to say that I think in this case he would be correct in doing so. I admit that I was very nervous about it beforehand. I didn't know how I was going to feel, for instance, seeing the troupe I had been in (and for one year led) perform without me, about being an outsider looking in. Luckily, I didn't feel that way. The show was wonderful, and it was great to see some new talent on stage. They even did one of the sketches I wrote, which gave me the extra thrill of hearing people laugh at it all over again. Furthermore, I was received really well by the troupe - who are my friends, after all. It was an honor and a comfort to know that I have been missed.

Being on the actual campus itself, it was like I had never left. One of my greatest fears, in the weeks immediately preceding graduation, was that as soon as I graduated, the physical campus would no longer "belong" to me and I would never feel the same way again about being on it. But I guess that, inasmuch as the campus "belongs" to anyone who attends the school in the first place, it can never really not belong to them. Although both I and it will change, it will (hopefully) in some ways always be familiar to me.

I had a really great time. Perhaps a little too great of a time, as in addition to the memories and whatnot that I brought home this morning, I also brought a bit of a hangover. But what surprised (and perhaps pleased) me the most about the entire experience was that as I got off the T this morning and started the walk to my apartment, passing by the now-familiar shops and restaurants on the way, I thought to myself, "Oh. I'm home." I haven't yet lived here for a month, and already it has become what I wasn't sure I would be able to so easily find after leaving college: a home. I think most of the reason I can visit school without having too many of the "why-don't-I-still-go-here?" feelings is that at the end of the day, I have a place to return to. And while perhaps "you can't go home again," if you're lucky, home becomes wherever you are, and you never really have to leave.

In Which There Is Hope In The Face Of Change

There has been a lot of talk about change recently.

Unless you've been living under a rock (or over the age of 30), you are no doubt aware that Facebook has changed its format. And from all the status updates I've been reading, this is a BIG deal. Apparently, people really, really don't like these changes. I guess I can understand why: if there is anything that binds us together as a generation, it is Facebook. But please: before we all resort to the ultimate act of Facebook civil disobedience and join the "1 million members against the New Facebook" Facebook group, maybe we should look at a few of the reasons why we should just move on with our lives.

Now, I should probably preface by saying that in general, I don't like change (see: leaving college, starting real life). I prefer things to be familiar. But if I'm given enough time to get used to the idea of an impending change before it happens, I can usually pull through alright (see: leaving college, starting real life). The point I'm trying to make in relation to Facebook is this: unless you haven't left the safety of that rock (or were born before 1978), you knew this change was coming. For at least a month now (maybe two, or longer?) Facebook has been advertising at the top of the page that it was going to make the switch. They even afforded us the opportunity to try it out. So even though everything is new and scary, we knew it was going to be that way. Let's chalk that up as a positive.

Also, this isn't the first time Facebook has changed. The way Facebook has been up until now is different from the way it was when it first started in 2004, and together we've made it through even the most drastic of changes, such as the addition of the News Feed in 2006. I know we can get through it this time around. And while I'm can't say I'm totally into the new format, I can say this: when my number finally came up a few days ago and I logged on to a whole new Facebook world, I felt at peace with the change. Yes, I'll have to re-learn how to navigate the site to find exactly what I'm looking for, and I'm not really looking forward to that at all. I chose to look on the bright side, though: maybe now that everything's changed and I don't know where things are, I won't spend as much time keeping track of the lives of people I haven't spoken to since high school.

But I wouldn't count on it.