The last couple days, I have been on a constant Gilmore Girls kick. I started watching this show at age 13, and continued watching faithfully for the first three seasons or so. It was a good influence on me, I think. Here was a smart, witty character who knew as much about Dickens as she did 80s pop culture… pretty much the exact image I was trying for in my early teens. Actually, forget trying. Impressing others really didn’t require much. Since 90% of the other teenagers around were too obsessed with Kate Spade backpacks and John Mayer to read, it was pretty easy to stand out. I read a lot of books and knew about music played with real instruments- pretty much all I needed to gain the respect of parents, teachers, whoever. As a teenager, you could be precocious. By 14, I read the completed works of Oscar Wilde, tried to get into Virginia Woolf. I was lucky to have a few friends who were equally interested, so we could throw out Dorothy Parker verses to each other and then snuggle up and watch Vincent Gallo movies. Twenty-two year olds can’t be precocious. Maybe you still have potential, but no one really cares about what you could do anymore, just if what you are currently doing is respectable or not. In your twenties, you have fewer excuses. The other day at school (this time as a teacher), I was having a particularly off-day and couldn’t help myself from crying. Several of the other teachers in the office tried to offer me solace and asked me my age. I muttered “21” without even thinking about it, and it took me a second to realize I’ve been 22 for eight months. She exclaimed, “Oh! You’re still a baby!” and I felt better. Yes, yes I am still a baby and I’d like to stay one for awhile, please. But why am I already starting to lie about my age? When you’re a precocious teenager, you’re special and there aren’t too many of you. But then, over time, like when you finally get to that elite college you’ve been trying for all this time, you realize you’re a little less special. By the time you graduate, you’re hardly special at all (like me, I participated in almost zero extracurricular activities and my GPA was astonishingly average and I certainly wasn’t even the most avid reader in my school). And now, post-graduation? I am suddenly jealous of people who were definitely non-precocious teenagers eight years back, people who happen to be doing more interesting things than I am. Why didn’t I go to art school to become a children’s book illustrator? Anyway, watching Gilmore Girls is like watching the end of an era for me, the last time I was smart, the last time being smart was good enough. The last time I thought I could make a swift transition from the best reader in high school to senior officer at the UN. Ah well. Makes me wonder— if Rory were real, what would she be doing now?
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