Brown People vs. Black People

You know how people are either brown people or black people?  Brown or black being the predominant "accessory" color.  Brown shoes, black shoes.  Brown belt, black belt.  Brown bag, black bag.

I've always thought I was a black person.  I have more black shoes than brown, I think black eyeliner looks better on me than brown eyeliner (when I actually manage to wear the stuff).

And then of course he has to say, "I think you're more of a brown person, with your skin tone and hair color."  Then again, he's biased, because he's most obviously a brown person.

So because I'm curious, here starts the great Brown Experiment of 2010.  I'm still skeptical.

Why Do Free Upgraded Drinks Bother Me?

I ordered an Original-sized Pomegranate Paradise with soy protein.  Why did this dude just give me one that looks like the Original-sized cup took steroids?  Sure, he was being flirty and extra helpful when I ordered, but. . . . oh.  I get it now.  It's not that I don't appreciate the favor, it's that I asked for one thing at a beverage counter (in this case, Jamba Juice), and distinctly got something I did not want.  I'm pretty sure I eat enough sandwiches, so it can't be because they think I need to eat more.  In which case, I don't think all the frozen smoothies from Jamba Juice can help me.

This isn't the first time something like this has happened to me.  Go all the way back to 2006, Twin Falls, Idaho, at the Starbucks inside Barnes & Noble.  There was this barista who had spent a lot of time in Lodi and in some weird way we got along and over time I realized he had taken a liking to me.  He started adding stuff to my coffee orders as "favors" that totally annoyed me and made me not want to go there.

"Do you like it?  I added an extra shot of espresso for you."  Thanks man, now the coffee-to-flavor-to-steamed-milk ratio is all fscked up.  If I drink the whole thing I am going to be extra-super wired for the rest of the day.  This is not what I wanted.  :(

I know I should just smile and roll with it, be grateful and thank the Beverage Gods that there are beverage service people who want to do favors for girls they think are cute.  One day I will not be cute anymore, and the baristas and juice guys are not going to surprise me with an upgraded drink for free.

But man, it bothers me.  It's not fair to all the other random strangers who wander into the cafe or juice joint and wander out with exactly whatever drink they ordered.  It bothers me because I don't want to turn into one of those snobby bitches who ask the barista to scoop off the foam (why would I do that?!?  The stuff tastes great!).  It bothers me that I can't be a random stranger whenever I go to whatever place.  I gotta be the odd person out.  I should take my free upgrade and run, but I wish I didn't feel so guilty about it.

I don't get this kind of treatment at my Coffee Bean near work.  They're all just nice to me because I go there a lot and we're all friendly.  They know what I like (it's Americanos with room now) and they've never tried to surprise me with some magical "favor".

The Gripping Hand

One of my favorite operators in C++ is the ternary operator, rarely used in practice.  I was first exposed to it my first or second year of college and immediately liked it.  It was just such a quick and elegant way to express something that could take up four or five lines of code.

I'm not quite sure where I was going with this now, because I really wanted to talk about The Gripping Hand concept in Niven and Pournelle's "The Mote in God's Eye".  Possibly because ternary operator makes me think of ternary logic, and this "gripping hand" concept kind of deals with that. 

I think humans tend to be a bit binary in how we think (on one hand we have A, on the other hand we have B).  So this idea of the Gripping Hand was novel and interesting to me in the book.  Basically, the aliens in the novel have three hands; two hands for detailed work, and one heavy "gripping hand" for the strong-arm stuff.  Because these aliens have three hands, their logic follows suit: on one hand we have A, on the other hand we have B, but on the gripping hand, C.

One of my classmates from USC, who you could say is one of those engineer-types who needs the ideal, perfect solution, asked me which job offer of two he should take.  "Job A makes more money and is stable, but Job B is innovative and unstable.  I'd get to program with Job B."  He liked neither offer enough to pick one on his own.  "So go hunting for more jobs," I said.  Not that he liked that idea any better, but hey.  I guess even the Gripping Hand argument can't win all the time.

Every Time I'm Disappointed . . . .

I try to tell myself that I wasn't entitled to whatever I thought I was supposed to get.  Why this is such a difficult concept for others in my generation, I'll never know.  It certainly is frustrating trying to explain the concept to people who just don't want to see it.  Maybe I am not being articulate enough.

For example, I'm not entitled to receiving e-mails from random strangers from whatever online dating service I use decides it wants to match me with.  I'm not entitled to phone calls from certain guys I happen to be infatuated with.  Unless I'm actually in a relationship with some person and can reasonably expect a certain behavior from that person, I'm not entitled to whatever behavior I thought I was going to get from that person.  Or something like that.  (While it's possible I can correctly predict what will happen given two data points, that is certainly no guarantee, and it's not fair of me to blame the other person for the surprise.)

I have to treat myself respectfully and love myself fully before I can garner any similar feelings for or from another human being.  By putting the responsibility of my happiness and satisfaction in my life out of my hands and into someone else's, I've automatically doomed myself to disappointment and misery.

Also. . . .isn't it nice that life isn't quite what I expected it would be?  For all the downs, I've had some pretty awesome ups as well, including ones I was not anticipating.

Facebook "Friends" Criteria

I have some weird criteria when it comes to "friends" on Facebook. Does this make me snobbish or weird?

If you are genuinely my "friend", you can be my friend on Facebook.
If you are in my familiy, you can be my friend on Facebook.
If we work together, you can possibly be my friend on Facebook.
If you are someone I met randomly and we hit it off, you can be my friend on Facebook.
If you are someone I went to school with, and we maintain in some sort of contact (via Facebook or e-mail, or phone, or IM), you can be my friend on Facebook.

If I only vaguely think your name is familiar, and we went to high school together, I have to wonder why the hell you want to be my "friend" on Facebook. Is it because you genuinely want to know what I've been up to since May 2001? If I say that you're my friend, you're never going to write on my wall or e-mail me, so what's the point? I don't necessarily have any ill feelings towards you, but I just don't think you have a need to know about what's going on in my life if I can barely remember your name and don't remember what you look like. If we went to high school together and you're married with kids, chances are as soon as you see my full profile you will write me off as persona non grata anyway. What are you going to get out of being my friend other than the privilege to nose around my photos?

If you're from college and we took some classes together, I don't mind being your Facebook friend. But honestly, I possibly don't remember you either unless I immediately write on your wall something about how it's been so long. Sorry. Names from people in college are even more elusive to me than names from high school. Isn't that weird?

However, if you're a professor I took a class from I'd love to have you as a Facebook friend.

Perseverance

The truth about grit

I like the idea of grit. Merriam-Webster defines the quality of grit as "firmness of mind or spirit : unyielding courage in the face of hardship or danger".

Grit is an old-fashioned, honest quality. Manly, but in a non-sexist way. I'd like to think that women can by gritty too, but I'd also like to think there was a more feminine way to call that quality.

When all else fails, try, try again. Pick yourself up and keep going. Because the only person you can truly rely on is yourself. I'm being very honest here. We are all born into this world alone, and we die alone. Much of our lives we struggle on our own. There is no one else who can shoulder that burden for us but ourselves.

By pushing our responsibility of traveling through this life onto others, we commit ourselves to mediocrity and misery. There is nothing wrong with having a companion, in fact, I most love the concept of having a confidant with which to share my life and experiences with. But in the end I'll still be on my own.

I'm not quite sure what my thesis for this post is supposed to be. There was something in the original article that made me think about what it means to be an adult, what it means to truly be self sufficient. And I definitely think grit is one of those things you must possess if you truly desire growing up.

Fortune

"Keep Your Plans Secret For Now"

Three Year Anniversary - Let's Punch It!

Three years ago, I moved to L.A. to start my career and grow new roots.

Tomorrow, my pension with my employer vests, which means that when I retire I will have supplementary income to help with the bills. Wow. I'm a company girl all of a sudden. When did that happen?

My three-year anniversary of moving to L.A. was actually last Thursday (the 10th), but when I think of my life really starting in the City of the Angels I think of the day I started my career.

My life has become something I could not have dreamed it would be. With each passing year, I've grasped new opportunities and had adventures I could not have imagined having when I was in college. With each passing year, my quality of life has improved and my general happiness has increased.

My career is finally feeling like it's going to take off. I'm making it in one of the best schools for graduate study. I'm generally healthy and I'm grateful to have good friends and loving parents. I'm truly grateful for what I have, because in many ways it seems to me I've been blessed more than the average person. A few years ago I don't think I would say my cup was more than half full. Now it overflows.

I like the idea of double fisting Life. We only have so much of it, and I want to get as much experience, as much knowledge, as much adventure as I can possible handle. Time is a resource I must not squander. I barely even have the time to contemplate its passing.

In the new Star Trek movie, Captain Pike commands Ensign Sulu to "punch it" when pulling the Enterprise out of space dock. That is totally how I feel about my life right now. Let's go!

One More Breath

My yoga instructor has a great philosophy.

"All you need is one more breath", he tells us. "This is practice for what we do in the real world. Dealing with the frustrations and tensions on the mat is going to help us when we're faced with challenges in our lives. Being calm and learning how to relax in Warrior II is going to help you remain centered and calm when faced with stressful situations at work and at home and in the rest of our lives."

As we come down from Standing Split, he says, "Clasp your elbows, bend your knees, relax your neck and just breathe."

Just breathe. Because all we need is one more breath.

One more breath.

Just one more breath.

Coincidence or Fate?

I definitely think people look for patterns in their lives. After all, with so much chaos, isn't it only logical that we would want to find some sense in all that muck?

I've recently met someone, who, at this point, I think our stars were aligned to meet.

God that sounds so hokey.

He lives not far from one of my favorite places in Los Angeles, in a city that I dearly enjoy to hang out in. He used to work just a hop across the street from where I currently work, and I'm certain we frequented the same Coffee Bean and fast food "grill" for coffee/lunch on occasion. We both knew, not to mention have similar fond memories of a certain burger shack in Playa Del Ray. While we don't work in the same industry, we do have similar degrees and similar skills. Not to mention unparalleled chemistry on all fronts.

The whole experience of meeting this fellow just over a week ago has upturned my exciting single girl's life upside its head. And left me thoroughly confused. I never thought meeting someone new who was also compatible would be easy. I also thought I would be bored to tears by many more dates before I found someone I actually liked.

I don't often talk about my personal life on here, but I wanted to comment on how . . .spooky this whole situation seems. I was just talking to a coworker recently who mentioned how much Life seems to depend on "blind, dumb luck". If this just happens to be a cosmic fizzle in the grand scheme of the universe, then so be it. I have to say I've enjoyed the time I've spent with this fellow so far. But if it turns out to be something more, then I don't know what to call it.

As I've gotten older, the strange giddy excitement of meeting someone new feels the same, yet has also changed into something more nuanced and complex. I feel more cautious now if I really like someone, but I also hold a deep hope that this person might be my match. I've become more cynical with relationships, but still hold out the romantic hope that maybe one day I'll find someone (or he'll find me) who will be my loving companion on this great adventure called Life.

The Happiest Girl To Ever Be Dumped

I highly recommend not moving twice in less than six weeks. It wrecks havoc on your stress levels. I also highly recommend not having another major life stressor happen in between moves that are six weeks apart. But I've done both of those things, and the Superwoman high I've been feeling throughout the last two weeks has skyrocketed. I can conquer anything Life throws at me. Life, dish it out!

I found a place close to work that is economically priced and I think I will be happy living there. I have returned to South Bay, and I think my quality of life will improve dramatically. One of my dear friends from before I left California came over and helped me unpack some of my things on Thursday.

"I've never seen a girl so happy to be dumped," she told me after dinner.

Is that so? Maybe. I personally theorize that I've reached my limit of stressful activities for the year, and just don't care anymore. If anyone or anything wants to weigh me down, I just don't need that person or thing in my life right now.

I only have vague ideas of where certain items are, and for someone who tries to be fairly organized, this bothers me greatly. Ditto for having a truly chaotic house.

But I am free. I don't have to check with anyone on plans I make for myself, I don't have to compromise on what time would be good to go to sleep or wake up, I can eat whatever I want without having to consult with someone else. . . .

My list extends to at least the other side of the Pacific.

I've never been happier to be single. Usually I feel like I need to be in a relationship, and that idea just doesn't feel palatable to me anymore. Dates are nice, but who needs a suffocating relationship when you can be free, and easily find attention from members of the opposite sex?

Lavender

When I was a child and my family lived in California, my bedroom was a bright yellow color. I don't know how old I was, but once my parents wanted to repaint my bedroom and let me pick out the color. It was a soft shade of lavender, the hue barely discernable. I remember this because the people who bought the house from my parents commented on it. They had to repaint the room because they had a son and I guess he didn't care for lavender too much.

After I learned my family was going to move to Utah, I was very excited. I had this fantasy that Utah was like the old westerns in the movies, and that people were generally nice and say things like "Howdy." Let's say this was not the last fantasy I had that disappointed me.

We lived far enough away from my elementary school that I needed to ride a bus. The bus would pick up a bunch of kids from Kanarraville, then me, then a bunch of other kids, and then finally take us all to school. That particular route served two elementary schools, and the kids from my school would get dropped off before the kids from the other school. In the afternoon it was reversed, and the kids from my school were picked up before the kids from the other school, and all the kids were dropped off in reverse order along the route. The afternoon bus driver was considered cranky by all the other kids, but I got along with him and at the end of the year he gave me a pin with a school bus on it that had flashing red LED lights. He said he gave it to me because I was the best kid on the route.

I was really excited to ride a school bus. When I lived in California my family's home was close enough I could walk to school. When you are young you read stories like "The Magic School Bus" and your imagination really runs wild. In California school buses were for field trips and other fun adventures, not for the daily trek to school and back.

My dad was nervous about dropping me off at the bus stop, because it was close to the interstate on-ramp and he didn't want some stranger to kidnap me. I know Dad tried to petition to have the stop moved but I guess our family didn't have enough influence in the area. So he would take me to the bus stop and I would wait in the car until the bus came. Then he would go to work. We would make up games to pass the time like how many ground squirrels we could spot, and listen to talk radio.

I'm not sure when exactly it started, and I'm not even sure of what was said anymore. There was a girl who wore a lavender jacket and lived in Kanarraville. She had long, stringy brown hair and was the leader of the pack of girls she hung out with. I put so much energy into erasing this part of my life that I don't remember her name anymore.

She started to tease me. Not because of anything I said or did, but because my eyes were almond-shaped. I got flak for something I could not change about myself. Not that I ever would; I think my eyes are one of my best physical attributes. I had never been teased so mercilessly for something as inane as that. I could understand not fitting in because of the clothes I wore or the food I ate, but those were things that are easily changed. Who we are, the essence that makes us, can never be altered. We can cover it up with makeup or surgery, or hide it with false personas, but it cannot be revised.

I don't remember if I stood up for myself, or if I just watched her and fumed. I know she had a lot of fun, because she would tease me every day. I hated taking the bus to school and would dread the ride if she was on the bus that day. I remember going home and crying to my dad about it. Dad suggested I sit in the seat behind the bus driver, so if she was teasing me the bus driver could see and maybe do something about it. If he ever said anything to her, I never knew.

Nobody wanted to sit in the seat behind the bus driver, because it was reserved for bad kids. Also probably because they couldn't get away with whatever kids get away with on the bus. I didn't really want to sit there because I would get even more ostracized than I was. But for the most part it was a successful strategy, unless someone had already ticked off the bus driver and the first few seats behind him were taken up by unruly children. Once he asked me to move so that he could watch someone less civil than myself. In those cases I was left to fend for myself again.

One winter day I brought gloves with me on the way to school, but after I stepped off the bus I remembered I left them in my seat. So I got back on the bus, but couldn't find them where I left them. The girl in the lavender jacket was sitting a couple seats behind, and I knew she had taken my gloves. I asked her to return them, but she smiled and said that she didn't have them. Exasperated, I turned to get back off the bus again, and after I turned she tossed the gloves into the seat where I had sat in.

I remember picking up the gloves, and in my accumulated frustration and rage ran back to her and punched her in the shoulder. The bus driver didn't like that too much but it's not like I pummelled her face in or anything. I remember he got out of his seat and said something but when I stopped he let it go. I wonder now how much he knew.

For the longest time I detested any shade of purple. Much later I learned that some shades of purple complement olive skin tones and hazel eyes.

I've been slowly learning to like lavender again.

The Things I Carry

I've been absent for longer than usual, I know. There's really not much to say.
I thought I had something good, and moved to be closer to him. Then he broke up with me shortly thereafter, citing his unhappiness and the fact that there will soon be no room for me in his life. It's OK. I'm not sad - I feel free. I've been happier than I've been in a long time, and for the first time I am single and happy. I'm moving back to South Bay. I've signed the lease on the new place and will be moving next week.

One box of cookbooks and general reference. One box of software reference. One box of literature. One box of books I'm trying to sell on Half.com. One box of sheet music and sewing reference. Two boxes of DVDs.
One box of decorative candles and associated items.
Two boxes of glassware and mugs, two boxes of dishes. Two big boxes with small appliances, cooking utensils and cookware.
Three nesting Samsonite suitcases, all filled with clothes. One box of belts and shoes. One box of bath and bed linens.

How much does a person really need to live? Air, and water. Enough food to eat. We are collectors, and collect stuff. Collect things. Feelings and memories. All the luggage we drag around with us, to be unloaded when we die.

Sometimes I wish I was still in college and could move everything I needed in the back of a Jeep Cherokee. Now I have to call a moving company because I am too physically and emotionally exhausted to move for the second time in less than six weeks.

I should have known that the tiny space allocated to me would not be enough for me. I should have known that there was no room for me here. Why did I do it? I don't know exactly. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time. I wanted to improve the relationship and not have a psuedo-long-distance relationship. I wanted to live cheaper and closer to The Huntington Library, which is my favorite place in greater Los Angeles. Sacrifice almost everything in the name of Love and saving money but not time. It's an almost romantic concept.

I should have known my efforts wouldn't be appreciated and that I wouldn't be welcome. Now I know.

In a few months I will probably want a boyfriend again. Men (and boys) are already chasing me. It's too exhausting to fight them off and yet some of them are utterly repulsive to me as potential partners. You want to take me out to dinner? Fine. A movie? Great. I don't want to sleep with you. Or you or you. I want to go home and sleep by myself. It's more comfortable that way. Really. I don't even want to just share a bed with you. I know that you'll charm me until you take advantage of me and leave me in the dust, and I know that you are a coward. I'm totally not interested, and I'm unamused by the pick-up techniques you learned on the internet. And all this stuff I carry, I carry on my own. I don't need your help to add to it.

Home Alone

I feel like such a loser.

Here I am on a Friday night, and what am I doing?

Watching class, doing homework, and otherwise not spending time with people or doing anything really relaxing or fun. Absolutely no one on either of my contact lists is online.

What's wrong with me?

Change of Course

I'm continually impressed with the bits of Life Wisdom I find in "The Penguin" articles. I don't subscribe to Runner's World anymore, but I visit the site every once in a while to see if there's anything new that I feel compelled to read.

Change of Course

From the article:
"When that day doesn't turn out as we expected, we often allow ourselves to be devastated. I've seen runners on the brink of a breakdown because they missed their self-imposed standard of performance. But a day is just a day. A race is just a race. It is our selfishness, our self-centeredness that creates the disappointments that we too often let define us."

I know of a couple things I could apply this to. My love life, my social life, my general life aspirations.

Now, the how of applying this is what I need to learn.

What Am I Doing?

I'm awake, way too late on a week night, wondering what I'm doing with my life in general.

I'm not a computer science whiz kid, never have been. I like the concepts, and I like execution of concepts and coding in general, but not necessarily at the speed required by professors. Computer security fascinates me in general and cryptanalysis specifically.

I'm taking a class that would put me on track to start on a Master's of Science. Why? I don't really know anymore. It seems like the right thing to do. If I do this I'll be giving up most of my free time for the next four years.

That is, if I still have my job for the next four years. With this economy who knows what will happen?

By the way, the reason why I'm up so late is because I took a nap earlier today so I could do the homework that's due on Wednesday (really tomorrow) for class. I already feel like a hermit with no friends and no life. Am I going to wake up in 4 years, just a few months shy of 30, and feel the same way? I've always felt somewhat of an outcast, but this isn't really where I saw myself.

I want a great love, and I want a career where I feel I'm not prostituting myself for the cash or the benefits. To love the work for the sake of it. I want the time and energy to put into the hobbies I enjoy. Somewhere along the line I feel like I must have wandered someplace extremely wrong, because I have none of those things. And sadder still, I have no idea how I'm going to get those things.

I'm in dire fear of becoming just ordinary.

To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

One never quite faces mortality quite like when someone one knows passes away.

I went to high school with this kid and his twin brother. I think the Spectrum link will expire in a couple weeks, so here's another link. He wasn't even 25.

I didn't know him or his brother very well, but we rode the same bus and probably had a class or two together.

I found out when I was snooping on another high school alum's blog. I've been reading a lot of blogs by people who I went to high school with lately. You find one blog from one person and that blog has links to ten other blogs of other people I barely know. They all share fairly public information and you can find out the names of their kids (with pictures) and some of the things they are up to these days. I don't know if I would feel comfortable putting that much information about myself in a public place like that. Maybe it doesn't really matter since anyone could find anything about you they wanted or needed on the internet, with a little ingenuity.

I wonder what would have happened to me if I took a different path in life. There were a couple people I could have gotten married to and maybe I'd be married with kids by now. What an odd thought! The idea that I could have kids at 25. That just seems so young to me.

Slow Brain-To-Mouth Time

I received my GRE scores the other day. I scored a 5.0 on the analytical writing part, which is to say, pretty good. I'm only in the 73rd percentile, but since the other two scores are 5.5 and 6.0, I don't mind being a "slightly above average among grad school hopefuls" analytical writer.

My favorite C.S. professor once lamented to me that C.S. students "just can't write". I have to admit I bailed out on a paper or two in my computer science classes. That was when I just didn't care anymore and had enough drive to do "just enough" to get through.

---Side Musing---
I'm not sure what did it. It's a trend I've noticed in my life - I get highly devoted to a cause, a purpose, until the veneer wears off and I realize that it wasn't worth my devotion to. And it's just a slippery slope from there. Or maybe I never discover what the purpose was to begin with and I'm just not motivated to put forth the effort for something if I don't know what it leads to. I don't like to be led around blind. If you can reason to me that something is important, and why it is important, then I can be easily led into the depths of despair and back without a complaint.
---End Side Musing---

As well as I can claim my writing skills are, I'm terrible at vocally expressing my thoughts on-the-fly. You might as well throw my vocabulary and reasoning skills out when emotion is involved, especially anger.

I'd really like to learn how to debate my points as clearly and concisely vocally as I do on paper. Even though paper (or word document) is so much easier. I can easily outline my argument, write some points, fill those points in with supporting arguments or examples, add an introduction and a conclusion, and Bam! Instant good paper.

Vocally, I'm a bit of a mess. My thoughts are far from organized and I jump from argument to argument with zero cohesiveness. I was definitely not called to lead a life in politics.

I'd like to become better at expressing myself vocally, but I'm not sure how to go about doing that. It becomes a serious problem (like, say, in the heat of an argument in a relationship) and I don't know how to defend my position in a way that other people can understand.

I could wax poetic on my theories of how arguments in relationships are supposed to work, but I'll save that for another time. Meanwhile, if you have any tips on "taking a stand" vocally or thought organization *before* it hits the airwaves, please share them with me!

Friday Night

I feel like such a loser because every Friday night, not only do I not have any plans whatsoever to do anything with anyone. . . .

the only thing I want to do is go home and sleep.

Something Profound

I need new running shoes. I suspected I needed new shoes earlier this week but last night definitely decided that was the cause of the leg pain I've been dealing with for the past week. Especially when I woke up this morning and my legs definitely didn't want me walking anywhere. I never really liked the shoes I was running in but really noticed last night that my feet were slipping around in them. I'm definitely going to yoga next week.

Wandering around the Runner's World website, I found something profound that I could (maybe) apply to Life in general. I'm all about that.

"There are plenty of great books and training programs out there, but the truth of being a runner comes in finding out for yourself, by yourself, who you are as a runner. It also means understanding that the runner you were yesterday is not the runner you are today. And most of us can barely imagine the runner we'll be tomorrow."

Where am I running to? I honestly don't know, and that's kind of scary. I haven't yet gotten to the point where I can reflect on my life when I'm running. If I focus on anything else besides staying relaxed, telling myself how easy it is to run for 23 consecutive minutes, I slow down and want to stop.

In Life, you can't stop. I guess you can, but then you definitely won't be going anywhere and when you wake up days, months, years later you'll be kicking yourself. Sometimes I want to stop in Life; I definitely think I've lost my focus and whatever post-college momentum I might have had. I'm afraid of trying new things even though I thrive on new experiences.

I can't run back . . . I can't say, "Sorry, I left my sense of indomitability back on that steep hill at Year 22 and my crushed, demoralized heart at Year 24. Is there a shuttle I can take to go back and retrieve those?"

Maybe I can hope that I'll drop my severe insecurity at Year 25 and pick up a sense of peace by Year 30. Hopefully I can find some Self-Respect somewhere in there.