I love 80’s pop songs. Listening to Boy Meets Girl’s “Waiting for a star to fall” brings me back to the era of excesses, simple happiness and how it was so easy to write lyrics full of hope that didn’t sound cheesy. Well, cheese was good back then. It was really the 90’s where all of sudden, the whole world was screwed, nothing was worth living for. I am definitely thinking of Superchunk’s Slack Motherfucker here. I love that track too by the way. There was definitely a period in my life where I considered myself far too cool and original to like teen pop. Suddenly Slack motherfucker and Nirvana’s Smells like Teen Spirit became the soundtrack of my life.

And what now? I am caught up in a web of finance and consulting interviews (gosh) and all i can do is sit here and write a blog about it. If there was ever inertia, you are looking at it. Interviews in this climate are tough. Suddenly, it is not good enough to be you, one has to prove it. Hence, post-interviews, I find myself having to write up investment thesis and crack financial models — because interviewers these days “want to see how your mind works”. Hey dude, this is a great mind here, that’s right…you are looking at the greatest mind on the planet. Never mind that I live on the planet where the apes live but hey, in the land of the blind, the one eye man is god. that’s me. but somehow, such a sales pitch doesn’t get me very far. So, i am back to cracking financial models and writing investment thesis to show how this mofo of a superior mind works. Nicee…

And…waiting for a star to fall. Carry the world into my arms, that’s where you belong in my arms baby…the song that sings to heart. How true. How easy. How unlike a financial model or an investment thesis.

Oh dreaded economy, what has thou done?

Above it all, it’s not so bad to be sitting at a cafe, staring at the streaming crowds that go past and plonk in digits on my keypad. Life could be a lot worst. I havent fully convinced myself of that statement yet, but I soon will.

I can’t even begin to describe how trying these times are for all, in particular, for me. In a recent conversation I had, I have been told that my general sadness and malady is a direct consequence of “dealing with loss”. In consultant-speak, it’s a triage of facts - I lost my job, I lost my apartment and I lost love. In banker-speak, its called “getting fucked” in any manner possible. On good days, I think positive and consultant-speak sounds good, on bad days (which is most days in my case), I feel every bit like the tiny banker that has been thumbed down by the economy, politics and life in general.

Losing a job is something that one can see coming, losing one’s apartment and having to move in with the parentals is humilating, but losing love is quite another thing. While losing 2 of the 3 things can be explained away by external circumstances which one cannot account for in one’s life model, losing love is one of those things where I cannot seem to get over the fundemental question, “What the hell went wrong?! Is it me?!” and this is personal; it’s not the economy, it’s not your boss, it’s not the other person, it’s me. And that’s scary, if not hurtful.

Being over 30, feeling like life ought to be heading somewhere, I am all of sudden left feeling like I have been dumped in the middle of the highway, trying to flag down Harley-Davidson bikers just to hitch a ride to nowhere. Meandering. My girlfriends have been nothing but kind, I get daily sms messages about staying strong, staying focused and trying to remember how my life is better by being alone. Alone. That’s harsh. I never figured me for an alone kind of gal. Until now. Flash forward and I see myself, 35, sitting down to a champagne brunch with other “like-minded”, similarly made-single women remarking how competing for a love franchise against 25-year-old nubiles is hopeless and that we all have “fantastic careers” and it was a personal choice to be “alone”. Life is great. But of course, what other way could it possible be?! I fill the void and gaping hole in my heart by purchasing Chanel bags on a regular basis. Perhaps, by this time, I will not be one of those women that need to wait 1 year for their Birkin bag to be made and shipped. I would have amassed such high amounts of social equity with the Hermes staff that I get bragging rights to getting my Birkin bag in under 3 months. 

The hypothetical scenarios are endless. The best one being I ebay auction my sorry ass and see what sort of marriage proposals I get. Tons of fun in the sun. I can imagine my advertisement to read as the following: 

Highly successful female, with clean habits and good sense of humour searching for equally successful male, with clean habits and good sense of humour. Cute and can bake a mean pie. 

Break it down to bite-sized pieces and we realize the idea of “The One” can be categorized into buckets of clean habits, humour, good dress sense, social graces and intelligence. And of course, the perennial whacked assumption of timing. Timing is everything. You could be a world-class ballerina and he a gas-station attendant and if the timing is right, magical things happen. It’s rude, because everything that womens’ magazines tell you about creating the value proposition about “strength, independence, self-confidence” is a lie. The biggest single factor to getting anywhere in this love franchise is timing. I know that now. I feel like I have come full circle just to learn that. Everything else, is a waste of time. I could be a pumpkin and if the timing is right, it wouldn’t matter. All the rest (skills, personality, looks) is icing on the cake.

I am learning to be flexible in this downturn. This flexibility extends to all facets of life, including being flexible to meet new people, to try new things, to take a reduced salary and a different role from what I thought I wanted to do. Someone remarked to me “everyone is breaking up. i wonder why?” I have the answer to the holy grail. It’s the damn recession — people have lost all hope and if one is not happy, it’s really hard to be happy with someone else. It’s even harder if one has no money to go on dates. Somehow, love-on-skype is not as charming in practice. 

Right now, I don’t want to have to hear another word about being single is great. And how you can live life by your own rules. Of course, the same individuals who are proponents of this nonsense are in every sense, looking to get out of it. If it wasn’t true, explain to me why people subject themselves to speed dating or dinner-in-the-dark? We are single only by virtue of hoping to get out of singlehood, until the next best thing comes along. mark my words, it’s true. underlying it all, is trade-off analysis. Eating with someone is far more fun than eating alone in front of the telly. And if you don’t have a telly like me, you end up sharing a dinner plate with Moo-moo, the stuffed toy cow. We get along great, it’s hysterical.

I read somewhere that one has to go through several steps to overcome grief. The first step is usually Disbelief, that something so traumatic can happen. The second step is Acceptance, that really bad things do happen and the final step is Coping. I think I am past disbelief right now and nowhere near acceptance but on all counts, I still have the support of my friends, Moo-moo and my cactus, Luis. I have been told my derisive humour is dry acceptance, after all, if I can make jokes, it can’t be that bad? When I do get to the stage of auctioning myself off, I’ll let you know.

Lily allen got it right — everyone’s at it. Welcome prozac nation! But I am really ok. Life isn’t that bad. I still have nice clothes.