As I’ve touched on what feels too many times in other blogposts (me, hung up? Impossible!), I went through what a millennial sociologist may define as a relationship many months ago. At the fling’s conclusion (if you use more casual terms, the memories feel more frivolous!), she spoke of wanting to remain friends. I soundly objected. Of course, I caved because who am I to decline friendship? And I still had feelings for her (me, with a heart? Another fallacy!).

Without surprise, this charade failed. We suffered several trials, extinguished by either she or I for various futile reasons that tiptoed around “you can’t be friends with your ex.” This was always my view and what she denied. I am a Taurus. I insisted she learn what I knew.

For a long spell, we did not speak. I count this as my small victory because she instigated it. During the desert, I met someone else, which I suspected was a temporary ploy to distract myself and proved to be. Nevertheless, I embarked on this doomed fling, though this one seemed destined for failure based on much triter terms like compatibility, ambition, and intelligence.

Since the fall, I knew I was moving away from Richmond. I made a conscious decision not to pause my life just because I would be relocating to a new city. That also included continuing to date. I was never convinced I would truly meet someone I wanted to stay in touch with, but I enjoyed meeting new people and making out.

About six weeks before my scheduled departure, I matched with “Hailey.” Hailey was a thoughtless swipe. She appeared cute and well-traveled, but that’s all I processed in the two seconds I spent on her profile. She messaged me first, and we engaged in the expected back and forth about hobbies, likes, and whether we had pets. As I often do, I disengaged after a day or two, but then I became bored and sent my typical apology alongside my number because “I’m much better at texting, believe me, I never check this app.” Hailey texted almost immediately and we recommenced our banter. At some point, I disclosed I was graduating soon, was very busy, and then dropped off the face of the earth again. 

I’m an academic advisor and work with traditional and non-traditional college students for a living. The structure, income, quality benefits, and having a place to wake up and go to on a consistent basis are on a good path for #adulting. However, I’ve had those “What am I doing with my life?” moments while sitting in my cubicle, staring into a computer screen, taking calls and meetings, and assisting students with degree planning and retention. 

When I graduated from college with a BA in English with a focus in creative writing, I had big dreams and major goals in mind for myself. I hoped to dive into career opportunities that would allow me to put that degree to work. I applied for different positions in my hometown and even took some faith leaps applying in areas in Los Angeles and New York City. I just believed the world of journalism, publishing, and creative writing would be ready to welcome another eager and hungry millennial fresh out of college, a full-time dream opportunity, complete with my own office staring directly into the city (or towards the beach depending on where I’d end up in this fantasy world.)

Passionate, open-minded, and digitized – the hallmarks of Generation Z. Of course, the research is still new and incomplete. But they are bubbling toward adulthood now, and we are beginning to take note of their “voices,” behaviors, and, yes, demands. They are definitely not shy about making connections. And this is refreshing.

In fact, we have learned that Gen Z’ers will connect will their peers all over the planet, share their passions and goals, support one another, and motivate each other. Further, they see no lines of demarcation based on race, ethnicity, or gender identity. In their eyes, justice and equality are common rights for all. They openly discuss these topics and take public stances on them, especially on social media. And, as we have recently seen, they will gather and loudly voice their demands until they get action.

As someone who loves and values efficiency and a nice succession of plans that are realistic, it's easy for me to forget to actually enjoy what I'm doing. As I'm running from work to the gym to a volunteer event and then back home to have dinner with my boyfriend, I forget that everything I'm doing is supposed to be fun.

I’m a 29-year-old bachelorette who’s not ready to get married yet. Not wanting to be someone’s wife can be problematic in a world that often defines a woman’s status by a ring on her finger and having a serious significant other in the picture. God forbid you be single, whole on your own, and out here living your best life… you may worry or threaten people with your singleness and bachelorette lifestyle. 

This is not to mention the concerns and pressures from different family members, friends, and even acquaintances who often ask, “Why are you still single?” 

“Why do you care?” is what I’d like to know. The pressure. The questions. The comparisons.

One of those things that I did not forget about was the single episode of Netflix’s Dating Around I watched. In it, one of my greatest dating pet peeves occurred and halted any hope of me watching any more episodes.

In the show, a guy goes on five dates with five different women. They’re all interspersed with each other, and then at the end he picks his favorite girl to go back out with for round two.

On both sides of the table, cringy things were said — is that just dating shows in general and I’m out of touch? — but he said one thing that is a TRIGGER for me.

Since FaceTime debuted however many years ago, I have been averse to it. Like any millennial, I hate speaking on the phone. So why would I prefer to showcase my double chin while speaking on the phone? If we need to chat, we can text or email.

When friends attempt to engage me on FaceTime, I ignore and text back, “What do you [possibly] want?” In the rarest of instances where I have been hoodwinked into participating in this torture, I leave my phone face-up while I run around my apartment sorting clothes, washing dishes, and shouting toward the phone. One time I did this in the bathroom and my friend informed me of the mold growing under my medicine cabinet. In what other circumstances would I look under my medicine cabinet?!

A few summers ago, my friend visited me in Richmond. While we lay on the banks of Belle Isle, we discussed our lives and soon discovered there were multiple things we partook in where we could be pigeonholed as being or doing one thing when we really don’t see ourselves that way at all. For example…well, I actually can’t give you an example because they’re all below.

We began to call these our farces. I’m not sure they’re actual farces in the Webster-Miriam sense of the word, but these are the lies we live. Below is a list of superlatives that could be applied to myself, but that I don’t personally associate with (yet I sorta have to):

You could call me a blogger, but I don’t call myself that.

Yes, I run this blog with Sara. And for what it’s worth, I’ve been writing for ATOB for almost two years. So I know why people call me a blogger – I do manage a blog that I co-own – but I’m not…well, maybe I am…but I’m not a blogger.