My Advice to Young Women

2:48 PM

Pearls of wisdom from someone who has no place giving any advice to anyone whatsoever 

Young Women
I kind of feel like everywhere I go, I’m surrounded by women in their early twenties. I think it’s because of where I work and the places I hang, or maybe I’ve become Hugh Hefner without realizing it. (I really think my whole robe-during-the-day look is more clinical depression and less Hef, but whatever.) My point is, I find myself wishing I could sit these chicks down and tell them how to live. Maybe I could whittle thoughtfully while I dispense said wisdom, because you know how seriously you take a whittler. Since no one around me seems to be clamoring for advice from old won’t-you-enjoy-my-robe-at-3:30-p.m., over here, I thought I’d share my pearls of wisdom to young women now, where you can’t see me and for all you know I’m wearing a sensible sweater set and a mature updo and might be exactly the kind of wise, older woman you’d want life lessons from. Here goes:

Capture yourself naked

 I mean it. It is highly likely that this is the best you’re ever gonna look, even if you keep up with the Pilates or the bulimia or whatever it is you’re doing to look good right now. It’s just a fact: This is pretty much your peak, bodywise. So get your artistic gay friend (that’s what I did) or your most trusted woman friend and take some nice shots, not gross ones you’ll be ashamed of later. You’ll look back and say, “I thought I was FAT? God, I looked marvelous!” Once you get old, you start saying things like “marvelous.” You also get an ass the size of a breadbox. So start snapping those photos immediately (you're not getting any younger).

Live relationship-free for one year

 Find out what it’s like to make your own plans, have your own fun and just be. There’s no shame in a weekend or 12 spent alone, fixing your apartment or your car or your hair or just reading a great book. You have to know that you can WANT a relationship, but not NEED a relationship. It clears out the clutter—and the riffraff.

Move far away for at least two years

 If you live in Minneapolis, don’t move to Chicago—move to San Diego. If you live in Seattle, don’t move to Portland—move to Cape Cod or Miami. Even better, move to France. People in different regions THINK in a different way, and it's good to expose yourself to people who didn’t grow up thinking the same as you. I’ve lived in Michigan, Seattle, L.A. and the South, and I could write a whole book on what I learned from each region. The two years part is important, too, because you need time to acclimate. If home is where you wanna be, then go home after your two years are up. But expose yourself to something new, even if you think it sucks. At least then you’ll KNOW why you love home.

You’re not that fascinating, so shut up and listen

I know you think your thoughts are new and original and they must be told. I know you think we all need to hear every detail of the new man you met. We don’t. At restaurants, I sit next to young girls talking the ears off of their parents, their boyfriends, their friends. You know how you get truly original ideas? By listening to other people’s ideas. Mulling them over, and not just stampeding to the, “Well, I …” response. People who talk about themselves constantly are boring as shit and hard to be around. People who listen, who ask how you’re doing, people who can just sit still, are not.

Take risks now

 This is it, sister. If you want to quit your entry-level job and join the Peace Corps, now is your window. If you want to shave the Country Crock logo into the side of your head, now’s the time, weirdo. I promise you that five years from now you will be getting married, or having a child or so far into your career that you can’t spend your nights playing bass for that PBR&B band. So do it now. And if you screw up, there’s still time to get it all back together again. Which leads me to my next piece of advice ...

Screw up

 Seriously. Date the wrong people. Write a terrible novel. Get a Brazilian wax. You learn the most from your mistakes, and if you’re too afraid to make any, you’ll never learn a damn thing and you’ll stay in your hometown forever and next thing you know, you’re 43 and hanging goose-themed windsocks off your front porch, wondering when the hell you became the most boring person on earth.

We were not put here to hang goose-themed windsocks. We were put here to try hard and get our hearts broken and fight back and occasionally find a perfect peach. Life is what happens while you’re between perfect peaches. So, live it the hell up, young women in your twenties. Live it up (and remember to get a Roth IRA).

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