Therefore welcomed No Shame November ! This week we’re diving into the pop culture we enjoy that civilization tells us we shouldn’t . em>
Alone in my apartment, chewing on inexpensive takeout lo mein, rocking the same sweatpants for a fifth day in a row–again. Six months from finishing my bachelor’s degree, this was how I saw myself: a post-grad poltergeist haunting my New York City abode like a metropolitan Boo Radley. Isolated. Lonely. Things had get bad.
My life hadn’t always the case this bleak. As a senior in college, I had lived with my two best friend in the world, Sarah and Ellie, a pair of girls more akin to criminal accomplice than sorority sisters. For ten glorious months, we inhabited Apartment 1012 with reckless abandons, setting off smoke detectors, rescuing stray cats, and pissing off just the right number of inhabitant advisors.
At the end of the year, when the tassels were turned, our certificate handed out, and that hole in the wall spackled, the three of us had a long ugly exclaim as we prepared to go our separate paths. Sarah was staying in Atlanta, Ellie was going back to England, and my move to New York would be underway in minutes. It was the end of an epoch with no clear reunion in sight and the pain that came with that apprehension was excruciating.
But, as my mothers loaded the last of my belongings into our Nissan Altima and we began the long trek north, I grew hopeful. Bright lights, big city! New York was the home of the Sex and the City em> gals, Entourage ’s insufferable douche crew, and the now-imprisoned Seinfeld gang. If TV had taught me anything, it was that Manhattan was filled with hip young adults practically imploring to banter with you at the local coffee shop.
Even in the world’s ninth largest metropolitan, stirring pals as young adults genuinely, truly sucks.
Turns out: nope. Not at all. Even in the world’s ninth largest metropolitan, shaping pals as young adults genuinely, truly sucks.( Like House of Cards Season 6 meets Parks and Rec Season 1 grade suctions .) In the “real” world, you can’t only share a map at direction, tag along to a last-minute party, or sign-up for a free association to make friends. You actually have to work at fulfilling anyone.
The maiming isolation that makes some after-college transplantings like me is one symptom of a larger phenomenon; you probably know it as “ .” Exactly what it definitely sounds like, post-graduation depression is the rise of mental health issues some face after leaving college. One period, you’re bee-boppin’ together with your steadfast pals. The next, you’re sobbing while knocking out that ninth consider of RuPaul’s Drag Race Season 7, actually taking care to enjoy the credits this time around.( May I say, once again, well done Production Assistant# 4. You mastered the spacecraft .)
Identifying the cause of this loneliness wasn’t particularly difficult for me. Many of your best friend were coping with the same fuss in different metropolitans and a number of solid helped me sort out where my desperation was coming from.
Solving it, however, “ve been a little” trickier. At first, I attended every happy hour, acquaintance-hosted housewarming, and workplace meet and greet I could find. I was perky, lingering, and, above all else, present. But gradually, as the months extended and “my people” remained absent, I gave up.
Well, that is, until I fulfilled Karen and Georgia.
“Stay sexy and don’t get murdered! ” I hollered those terms at the top of my lungs, in unison with my newfound best friends, every Monday and Thursday with ritualistic passion for weeks. No, the three of us weren’t crowding around my kitchen table boozing wine-colored, practising some bizarre self-affirmation/ devil worship. I was generally cooking or straightening up while Karen and Georgia, thousands of miles away, remained unaware that their pre-recorded terms were gradually mending my wounded soul.
My Favorite Murder , Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark’s bi-weekly true-life crime/ slapstick show, was the gateway that launched my podcast obsession. As I explored the magnitudes of Spotify, seeking more voices to fill the quiet instants of my period, Karen and Georgia were acceded to by Chuck and Josh of Stuff You Should Know . Soon after, I encountered Paul, June, and Jason of How Did This Get Made ? em >
Then came Aaron Meinke of Lore , Michael Barbaro of The Daily , Sarah Koenig of Serial , Phoebe Robinson of Sooo Many White Guys , and, perhaps most fittingly, John Moe of The Hilarious World of Depression .
All of these people were tribes who I could get to know moderately intimately, depending on the podcast, who showed up reliably and had real interest in whether I was joining them–if simply to sell me another shipment of HelloFresh.
At the end of the day, it’s okay to be alone, but you don’t “ve got to be” lonely.
Somehow, I had met my way out of the terrifying darkness that saluted me upon first arrived here adulthood and was back to my life in Apartment 1012. Sure, Ellie and Sarah still weren’t there to teach me to not microwave plastic or hug me after a long day. But, I was once again filling the solitary corners of my life with the words, thoughts, and tendernes of interesting people who cared if I was listening.
At the end of the day, it’s okay to be alone, but you don’t “ve got to be” lonely. While Tv attributes, film heroes, and even my beloved podcasters can never serve as replacements for complete pals, the worlds they open up can remind you of all that is still out there to explore, inducing what seems like a small life, so much bigger than you could ever imagine.