I’ve always been a TV-holic. Growing up, my parents let me watch an hour a day and it was all about Pumpkin Patch and My Little Ponies. But as I got older I wrangled more hours of them and by the time I was a teen, man, TV and I had a solid thing going. TV made me believe that my 20s were going to be glorious. My first job? Glorious. My apartment? Massive. My social life? Buzzing.
It was all a lie.
I somehow thought that having a job and moving out would help me get it all together – that suddenly life would all make sense. But here I am, 27 years old, wearing comfy pants and having popcorn and a G&T for lunch. I’ve been single for over a year and yet I live in a world of weddings (it’s my job, I swear). TV me had me thinking you’ll have swanky cocktails with your equally swanky and successful friends after work, in your swanky clothing and a (yes, you guessed it) swanky restaurant.
TV makes it seem like you’ll have your shit together – you’ll have the guy, you’ll have the ring, you’ll have this big life ahead of you and all nailed down before you’re 20. I’m still wearing clothes from Mr Price and consider a Cotton On dress a treat to myself.
I had my dream job – and then I lost it. Since then I’ve been in a bit of a limbo and I think I’m only just beginning to find my feet in my new position(s). But I still feel far from steady, far from knowing what my ‘five year plan’ is or how to make a success of where I’ve landed.
TV makes it seem like you’ll walk in the door and before you know it, your Andy, sitting at Miranda’s right hand and shit, stuff is tough, but your life is banging. Everyone sees your brilliance. Who needs to climb ladders and be patient when you are THE BEST THING?
But I climbed fast – I made Deputy Editor of seventeen with one year work experience under my belt. But I’ve fought for what I have and am fighting even more to get ahead now – to learn and develop and become the damned best at what I do – and to be seen. And even when I reach the top, it’s a fight I won’t stop.
My recent trip to 15 on Orange proved that even hotel rooms are bigger than my apartment. The apartment that I rent. I live alone, so sure, that makes property a shit load more expensive. My dreams of owning a decently sized one-bedroom flat with space for a cat and where I can’t see my fridge from my bed seem so far off that I may as well not even dream. TV made me believe that I could have space – OH THE SPACE I’D HAVE! And it would be beautiful! (My first apartment didn’t even have a stove – and we had to tie the outflow pipes of the washing machine to the kitchen sink taps to prevent flooding), everything would be new, I’d have dinner parties, a fire escape to sit on (I guess, technically, I could sit on mine, but it’s not very New York).