My friends often turn to me as if I am a wealth of relationship advice, as if I have the answers for everything—from how to slide into someone’s DMs, to when is too soon to pop the “L-word.” I love helping my friends navigate their love lives and find what they deserve. But honestly, when I’m faced with this week’s query—whether it be a playful take on that guy’s Hinge profile, or how to ask that girl from school out for coffee—my answers almost always surprise me. I float above my body to find myself speaking in hymns of love and triumph, crafting elaborate metaphors, and tying my own experiences into a perfect bow of trial and growth. More often than not, I am shocked at the words falling off my tongue. I do not feel like anything close to a relationship guru, a sage, or the source of wisdom that my friends tend to view me as. When I manage to string together a motivating pep talk, I question where that comes from. Like many other fresh 20-somethings, I am guilty of doubting my wisdom and not owning the experiences I’ve had in love and romance.
The first time I watched Sex and the City, I was enticed to consider which of my friends fall into the four archetypes portrayed by the show. Beyond the hopeless romantic in Charlotte, the high-strung Miranda, and the free-spirit of Samantha, we have the Carrie—overflowing with anecdotes of a seemingly easy and desirable love life. She is the glue: rest-assured, she can answer any and all of your latest dating issues, as she has been there herself. Though her character has an array of flaws, among her qualities is a confidence in her ability to advise, and a confidence in herself and her relationships.
Life is far from Sex and the City—but what’s wrong with fostering spaces where we lean on friends for guidance, and where we ourselves feel confident enough to give advice?
I find myself single again, having walked away from another relationship where I was not getting what I needed to thrive. The pain of a breakup is often not just from mourning the specific relationship, but yearning for a love-life that you do not have; wouldn’t it be easier if I was already with the person I’m meant to be with? It feels cyclical to be left puzzling together patterns from past flames, asking “do I have a type?” or “am I the problem?” in all these situations. Finding myself in this position again makes me wonder why my friends trust me to give advice. My experiences are beginning to look and feel similar, my luck is yet to change.
And just like that, I watched an episode of Sex and the City. Carrie Bradshaw is not a role model for the generations, nor is she a character I particularly align myself with. But she’s had her ups and downs, and she’s been through the ringer of ‘unsuccessful’ dating. Even with supposed ‘failures,’ she holds wisdom, and the confidence to write and share it with her friends and with the masses. A cloud of blonde smoke, tripping on uncomfortable high-heels and one-too-many dirty martinis, determined to find what is best for her. I should only hope to put my own spin on this image the next time my roommates request a chat.
Swap the cigarette for an espresso martini and send me to Bloomingdales—I am ready to own my experiences and my so-called ‘wisdom’.
