Set Your Phasers to Stun

DAY TWENTY-SIX: The Pauper's Belle Epoque

If we take a look at our lives, we can all probably figure out certain phases we went through.  No, I'm not referring to that weird phase where all you did was listen to Fuel.

I can't be certain this is Fuel.  But I can be certain that Wannabe Donnie Wahlberg's
facial hair just negated any orgasm I've ever had.

I'm talking about real genuine life phases.  If our lives were significant enough, I would be referring to these as "eras."  But as an adult in the midst of maturation (and thus starting to realize I'm not, in fact, the center of the universe, and my life holds little significance within said universe), I refuse to apply a word with such grandiose connotations to such a small meandering thought.

But enough with justifications!  Let's get to the point, Williams!

I was talking to a friend of mine last night who recently relocated from Chicago to New York City.  We were discussing the move and what she liked about New York versus Chicago and how she was adjusting to her new life.  And while trying to compare the two cities, she justified the importance of Chicago because she did so much growing up during such an essential time in that city, so it will always hold a special sort of significance.

That significance holds a fondness in her heart.  Regardless of the lows that complimented the highs of that phase of her life.  Is it because we have an innate tendency to let nostalgia tint our perspective on the past?  If that's the case, then I'd have any semblance of a desire to relive high school.

I do not.

But that doesn't mean I don't appreciate the hell out of my high school years.  I was a mess of a person.  But without being such a mess, I wouldn't have grown up to realize how ridiculous I was, and thus, moved away from the immaturity and cries for attention that birthed most of my problems.  It felt like the end of the world at the time, but now, it's rife with comedic potential.

Perhaps the mark of a completed life phase is this fondness.  A realization that everything within that phase has gotten you to where you are right now.  And the ability to blur the pain into the good so it becomes something you can live with.  For that, you have to be somewhat thankful of the shit you plowed through* to get here.

*Andy Dufresne picture omitted for redundancy.

And so I look back on my phases.  

My childhood: Carefree and healthy.  

My adolescence: Oh dear Ferg, thank the godless heavens that social media wasn't a thing back then.

My early twenties: A wandering cesspool of indecision, bad decisions, and lazer vision**.

**Lazer vision included for verbal synergy. 

And so where does that leave me now?  What phase of life am I entering?  How will I know when it's over?

For now, while I'm still optimistic. While I'm still at peace with my decisions. While I can still find the creative discoveries within the crevices of my brain flaps innervating, I will steal from the French. I call this my Belle Époque. A phase that couldn't be possible in my life without the drudgery of the others.  A phase that will have it's ups and downs.  A phase that will hopefully sprout some of the most personally and individually fulfilling moments of my life.  

Let's just hope that the end of my phase isn't the individual's equivalent of World War I, whatever that may be.

I have a feeling this guy knows.
I have a feeling this guy knows all too well.