Can't do a handstand in a pool...

there's a lot of "can'ts" in my life right now.

Parks and Recreation, Season 2: Episode 18, “The Possum”

While I have developed many Pandemic Habits™, one of the most common to become tradition is reaching a point in the afternoon where the TV becomes my static background noise companion, comfortably filling the tiny spaces in brain that have a standing 3pm date with “massive doubt” and “endless anxiety.” 

Absentmindedly, I usually click over to TBS, where Friends is almost always guaranteed to be playing in syndication. Though I missed the Friends train when it first aired in the 90’s and early 00’s, I’ve now seen every episode at least a dozen times as both TBS and Nickelodeon play them chronologically on a loop until what will likely be the end of time. This last week was the umpteenth rerun of season 7’s episode, “The One Where They All Turn 30.” 

At this point in Pandemic Habits™ life, I usually have the TV muted or playing softly, its only role to make our home feel a little more lived in during a quiet afternoon. This episode, however, always seems to grab my attention, as turning 30 was a milestone I myself achieved just last year. Every time I have watched this episode in the past I laugh off the meltdown Rachel has about fearing she will not find love, marriage, and kids in “time,” as I have this modern notion that “middle aged” is at least 50 now and that the pressures of those big life milestones are less severe than they were when this episode originally aired in 2001. But watching it this last time the uneasiness hit me. Joey’s cry of “WHY, GOD, WHY?!” suddenly seems to echo in my brain when I’m staring at the ceiling at three in the morning. It’s not about the love, the marriage, or the babies though. For me, it’s looking back at the last decade of my life and feeling the overwhelming feeling of “can’t” mixed with the shapeless monster that is “failure.”

Without this becoming a whiny diatribe, I’ll sum up that for those who don’t know me well, my 20’s were a decade long learning curve built off the large foundation that was a chip on my shoulder. I entered adulthood as a teenager, my family too dysfunctional and with one parent whose verbally abusive narcissistic tendencies created a large, open wound, from which I have only now slowly begun to heal. I was lucky to have a guidance counselor in high school that took the time to realize my depression and steeply declining GPA was not a result of a lack of “Christlike characteristics” (the rhetoric of home life) but rather a valid disorder that was slowly consuming my past existence of being a highly motivated, creatively inclined, all-star student. I graduated by the skin of my teeth, with the option of college barely discussed except for that of BYU, which I refused (and was also waitlisted because I had a terrible GPA and slept 16+ hours a day).

I would spend the next few years entering the retail workforce while the remainder of my friends experienced quintessential American college life. *Insert the first square footage of the chip on my shoulder.* Eventually, I moved to San Francisco and tried to shift my career into the world of office management. Spoiler alert: college dropouts are only appealing and edgy once they’ve become billionaires. *Insert more square footage to the chip on my shoulder.* In 2017 I landed what I thought was my dream job, the Chief of Staff to a multimillionaire starting a new venture. Spoiler alert: it was singlehandedly the worst and also most short lived job I’ve ever had - I was hired a week before Thanksgiving and fired a week before Christmas. It’s 100% a WILD story for a different time (it involves creepy VIPs in Silicon Valley tech, an “office” in his hotel room *barf* and the weirdest business dinner I’ve ever had that involved a $15,000 bottle of champagne) but WHEW that feeling of failure sure finished that monstrous mansion of a chip on my shoulder. A visual, if you will.

In 2018, I had shifted focus back to my retail fashion roots, working for a startup as a luxury stylist to the ultra rich while living on a beer budget in reality. Again, another story for another time. In late 2019, one small minuscule step away from losing my shit, I decided to quit (with the blessing of my partner, Mike) and take some time for myself to figure out what I wanted. Enter: the pandemic.

I think a lot about various actors, musicians, artists and athletes who are undoubtedly living the destiny they were meant for and feel palpable jealousy. With so many interests in a handful of niches, I am constantly in an anxiety spiral of what I am “meant” to be doing. This is what fueled the swift demise of Prohst. Though a generous mixture of bad timing, money stress, and the reemergence of that pesky depression that quietly looms in the back of my brain, I felt an uneasiness about whether a tablescape company really was my “calling” or if I was simply settling. The panic quickly drove me into the mindset of adding one more “can’t” to the failure tree.

I don’t write any of this in hopes of receiving pity or worse, having anyone think that I think that I have it “bad.” This is less about feeling self deprecating and more about positive introspection as I can confidently say now that most of my 20’s felt like time wasted feeding the ugliness of doubt (the can’ts), bitterness, and jealousy.

When I think of Rachel’s panic about the timeline of her 30’s, I understand that uneasy feeling of mysterious wonder and the yearning for purpose. I feel uncertain about what the definition of “career” will look like for me and what mark I will leave on this world. I certainly don’t thrive in a traditional office setting, but I don’t know what that leaves for me. It gives these vibes:

While there’s no conclusion to this predicament, or at least not one I will reach by the end of this newsletter, I am determined to find my path forward through challenging myself to get over the things I feel have most held me back (refer to newsletter #1 for some of these topics.) I am very aware that it would be beneficial to more often exercise my creative muscles and not give up the second it doesn’t look like the perfectly crafted project in my head. Which leads me to the fun part of this entry (I promise there will always be a fun part to these.)

In the spirit of the finding some Prohst closure and a personal resolution to exercise my recently lazy creative muscle, I’m challenging myself to 30 days of setting our dinner table (when we aren’t eating out - which is not often right now lol). I will be holding myself accountable through the hashtag #junioryearsupperclub and would love for you to follow along. I will add mini updates to the next few editions of this newsletter along with posting on the ol’ instagram. I’m considering this a test run for all the real dinner parties I hope to be having soon, as I’m itching to celebrate so many of my friends missed milestones.

Here are some things I’m eyeing on the internet to help make our mealtime special:

clockwise from left: one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine

and some inspiration I have saved:

clockwise from left: one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine

That’s all for now, folks! As always, I would love to hear your thoughts and feels and hope you’ll not only follow along but join in on your own #junioryearsupperclub tablescape. Send me a snapshot, use the hashtag, or reply to this newsletter for advice or DIY help with setting the dinnertime vibe.

OR just let me know how you’re doing! We’re on this giant floating space rock together just trying to do the damn thing - if you’re having a hard time, you’re not alone.

Until next week!

xo Glenn