Old Girl

My daughter and I were watching an episode of New Girl last night. My daughter is 15 years old and I have to keep reminding her that these are late 20s, early 30s characters with their own jobs, living as single young adults in their own apartment. (She already watched the whole series over the summer unbeknownst to me, so I’m doing a little catch-up parenting). In this particular episode, Jess, the main character, has just woken up from a wild girl’s night out and is hazily trying to remember a secret she disclosed over shots of tequila. It's a funny-ass episode with Jess and her model best friend looking hilarious in the previous evening’s flashbacks. They’re drunk, but still cute and sexy. More hilarity ensues as the hangover caper is unraveled and they end up better friends for it all, sharing their ice packs to soothe each others aching heads.

Innocuous or insidious?

I know I got away with a Jess-like lifestyle for a whole lotta years, and I would be lying if I said it wasn’t a blast. But our memories have a funny way of shutting out the trauma. Did Jess drive home that night and talk a cop out of giving her a ticket? Did Jess give her Snap Chat to a creeper at the end of the bar? Did she twist her ankle walking with high heels on cobblestone? As we get older even these traumatic stories take on a funny hue. There is a song by the band AJR and I love the line, “100 bad days makes a 100 good stories, and 100 good stories make me interesting at parties.” We love to revisit and celebrate the experiences we live through, sharing them for a hearty laugh.

The down side, of course, is that it all catches up to us at some point. Maybe the cop didn’t let Jess off the hook, or worse yet, she got in an accident. Maybe the creeper became her boyfriend and mentally abused her for years. Maybe she was so drunk when she twisted her ankle she passed out right there on the cobblestone. Or maybe a grown Jess does get away with it all, and the catching up occurs like the building of scar tissue on her psyche. Maybe the stories soften but the pattern remains. My momma always said, “Lessons will be repeated until learned.” Maybe there is no funny story to tell at 50, but rather the sobering realization that one can develop a dependance on alcohol to deal with just about every issue in life. Drinking becomes a default for getting together with friends, dealing with sorrow, managing anxiety or relieving boredom. Not to mention, around 40 years old, the hangovers aren’t nearly as funny. It all works until it doesn’t. Part of me wants to tell Jess, “Live it up while you can, before your body says ‘No more!’” But the other part says “Try something different Jess. Have you seen who you can be without it?”

This sitcom, like so much of our social messaging, normalizes alcohol, even glorifies alcohol, to the point of hypnosis. You don’t have to look too far back in history to see Lauren Bacall or Rita Hayworth sexily dragging on a cigarette to make the connection. Herd mentality definitely applies to us roaming humans, and it’s safest in the middle of the pack. I have no illusions that my daughter will get through college or her young adult life as a teetotaler. There is still a big part of me that thinks it’s cool to drink and party, and having remembered the whole experience as fun, I want my daughter to experience that celebratory atmosphere. But what I want her to know going in, is that she will be playing with an addictive poison that will affect her brain and body on the short and long term. (Did I just take the fun out of it?)

What am I saying? Giving up alcohol, clear brain and all, I am noticing how our society pushes it on us. Everywhere. Television shows, social media, champagne at the hair salon, beer with yoga sessions, even onesies stating, “Mommy wines because you whine.” Jess doesn’t see the insidious nature of it yet, and my daughter is just now getting bombarded with all the messaging. Unlike fictional Jess, my daughter will have learn how to navigate our booze filled culture and survive. I, for one, and glad to be on this side of it, alive, and over the self induced trauma. Turning 50 has its perks.