SATC, the show, debuted in I think ‘99 or 2000. A time at which I was just coming in to adolescence. And oh my God, here was the embodiment of everything I wanted to be when I grew up. Stylish, independent, living in an address coveted by millions, drinking pink martinis with my besties. I dutifully watched every episode from the second season to the end, fantasizing through those 30 minutes that I too someday would live that life.
And then I moved to New York. And now I realize that while the show certainly has some merits and valid insights into modern womanhood the characters are vain, immature, shallow and quite self-obsessed — just like I was at 15 (and at 25 for that matter). I realize now that one reaches an age when they need to be their own person. When a group of 3 to 5 girlfriends doesn’t necessarily hold the answers she’s looking for; when it starts to feel like it just kind of holds her down.
When I left NYC I had a lot of things to say about it — negative things. I drew a lot of conclusions about the general population that made me sound embittered and were only half true. I know it and ever since have been searching for the reason, the core of why I left. Maybe it’s just that I started to grow up.
I’ve really struggled with a fear that former friends would think it odd that my life right now is solitary, that the time I make for socializing is little, that I’m not the party girl I once was. Perhaps it was a fear inside of myself, a fear of change, a fear of just being different. I now realize that it’s simply a function of getting older. Some people get that drive to hunker down, get serious about their future and find more pleasure in meaningful one-on-one interactions than group settings as they age. What time that happens, if ever, is an individual thing. It’s happening to me now.