Happiness…Where Art Thou? Don't elude me any longer!

It's interesting…how some people find it (happiness) on the first try (or else are darned good actors) and how some people embark on an endless journey looking for it…I guess as of now I'm in the second category. Perhaps this is still the "Quarter-Lifer's Struggle" syndrome that I'm experiencing. Having graduated from college and then meeting the anxiety of the real world…That I'm responsible for my own happiness…

It's terrifying, and with social media shoving the constant "Look at me and how happy I am" posts down your throat per each of your thousand friends, it's tough. Secretly, you groan every time a new "I'M ENGAGED LOOK AT MY FABULOUS RING" post surfaces or worse, an "OMG, I JUST GOT THE JOB I'VE BEEN PRAYING FOR" post or "LOOK AT MY BABY TAKING HER FOOD AND THROWING IT ON MOMMY'S FACE" post… It almost sends your fingers racing to the "deactivate account" button.

But, then another problem… Perhaps that irritation is jealousy. Seeing 90 of your FB friends post that they're planning their wedding while you cry at home wondering when it'll happen for you after watching a fairy tale…no bueno. Or wondering how so-and-so got the dream job when they slacked off all through college, cheating their way to barely-passing grades while you worked tirelessly, endlessly, aggressively and sit through mediocre…Yes; it's actually jealousy. And the thoughts of "What does she/he have that I don't have? When will it happen for me? Why can't I just be happy? What more do I have to do?" I'm sick of these thoughts…and after talking to some other 20-somethings…I realize that I'm not at all alone! I'm reading forums about it…and now I have books coming to my doorstep this week about it…For most people, it seems, their 20s are no picnic…And that gives me relief. (I'm starting Christine Hassler's 20 Something Manifesto and A Quarter-Life Woman's Guide to Balance and Direction when they ship this week. I also have Jenny Blake's Life After College on my list.)

So…I decided that I'm going to work tirelessly to achieve my own happiness. I'm going to force the happiness into manifestation and cheer on the people who have found theirs (or are just darned good actors)… I won't settle for the feigned happiness; I won't fall victim to the Impostor Syndrome…and if it isn't working for me…I'll just move on…Simple enough? Amazingly, it isn't!

But…if it means working full-time to be happy, then I'll just have a second job for the rest of my life. As of now…I'll be redirecting this blog to focus on this journey…..this hard-pressed, lifelong journey that is highlighted by a four-hour cooking class that sends me away with a renewed sense of self, or the awesome work my dog did in group class one week or the professional conference that I'm going to in New York in a month, or the trip to the nail salon with my nieces…Whatever it takes….

Age on the job…why so important?

My birthday was a couple of Fridays ago, and even before that day, my co-workers were begging to know my age. Each time someone asks, I respectfully tell them that I don't think it matters, or that I would rather not say, or some other honest and polite excuse. However, it has become a plaguing issue…That I just don't understand. Why is it so important to know? I don't ask anyone else their age…unless I plan on dating them.

This issue has continued to rear its ugly head. It seems like my colleagues' curiosity has been fueled by my refusal to give a real answer. And, I'm sure that when they reveal their ages and wait expectantly for me to follow suit, it must be quite frustrating. I allow them to guess, and they always guess incorrectly, but it's because I don't think it matters. I think my position matters; I think my level of education matters, and I think my experience matters. But not my age…not my marital status and certainly none of my other personal demographic or psychographic information.

I don't fall for the clever "when did you graduate" trick, either. I'm young. I don't deny or hide from this fact, but I'd rather not be discriminated against on the job because of exactly how young I am. Heck, if I  were much more seasoned and reported to someone my age, I'm sure it'd be tough for me to take that "kid" seriously, too. With that in mind, I keep my mouth shut and my i.d. close to me at Happy Hour.

The ageism is already visible, though. I'm called "sweetie," "baby," "doll" and every other nickname synonymous with a little girl. My on-the-job compliments are how "cute" my hair is that day or, worse, how "cute" I look in general. It makes me uncomfortable. I have a youthful face, too, and it doesn't help my case much.

To get to the point of this post, though, why does your age matter? If you're getting the work done and being respectful, why should you be expected to reveal personal information? Just to get along with everyone else? Pass…