ask E JEAN

Tormented? Driven witless? Fear not, help is just a short letter away

MUCH ADO ABOUT ANYTHING

DEAR E JEAN, I know I’m only 23, and my whole life is ahead of me to experiment, but I’ve recently had the horrible realisation that once I get my master’s degree in communications this year, I can do anything. Anything. That’s a scary word for me. You see, I haven’t really had career goals or dreams. I’ve just dabbled in different creative arts, and I don’t particularly shine at any of them. The only thing I do know is that I don’t want the same job for the rest of my life. So the prospect of doing “anything” is overwhelming. Where do I start? How do I start? – Ugh MISS UGH, MY DUCK I read your letter. At first I was so petrified with delight I was unable to move for several moments. Then, with tears of joy, I jumped up and screamed: “Yeeeeeee gods! This young lady can do anything! What timing! What luck! She can come pave my driveway! She can save the elephants! She can increase the number of women in politics! She can win the Nobel Prize in Literature! While at the same time annihilating racism and baking cakes without calories! Fantastic! Stupendous! Miss Ugh can do anything and so she can answer her letter herself!”

Epilogue. Then I sat back down. Though you can do anything, and though my own mother, the comely Liz Carroll – who’s currently refraining from a second marriage, the better to indulge her lusty flirtations with numerous admirers, and who was born before women could vote – pounded into my 13-year-old head that “women can do anything”, it’s a stretch. So here’s the deal: though you can do anything, you can’t do everything. You must pick. But you’re banging into new people and ideas and constantly changing, right? Therefore, if you select a future career based on who you are now – a young woman in such a muddle that she signs her letters “Ugh” (and not the person you are continually becoming) – you’ll probably choose something that strikes terror in your future self. So, as you must begin somewhere, begin by picking not a career, but a trajectory.

I’ve read your tweets; you’ve got writing talent and pizzazz. You mentioned the “creative arts”. Go in that direction. And stay open to the shifts that make life so gloriously unpredictable. Get smarter by putting in the effort and practice in the first jobs you try. The best part? You’ve been “dabbling”. And dabbling is the best way to get into the flow of all the possibilities. There. You see? You’ve been answering your own question all along.

EGG-CENTUATE THE POSSIBILITIES

DEAR E JEAN, I’m in a state of panic. I’ve been living with a man for seven years, and he keeps saying we’ll get married and have a kid “eventually”, when I meet certain “requirements”, like keeping the house clean and losing a few kilos – despite him being a dirt-poor failed musician. I’ve just turned 38 – I’ve wasted my prime fertile years on him! And now I’m too old to meet anyone. I’m even outside the ideal age if I wanted to donate my eggs to an infertile couple. I have a wonderful job as an associate director of events and operations at a top university and I would be considered pretty if I had a nose job, but every night I cry myself to sleep because I’ll be childless and unmarried. Do I have half a chance at happiness? Or is it... – Too Late? MISS TOO Did you say your... “eggs”, my luv? Egg-zactly. Freeze them. There’ll be no guarantee the implantation of your fertilised eggs in the future will result in a pregnancy, but freezing your eggs will let you decide your own fate, obliterate your romantic deadlines and free you from the ticking time bomb hanging around your neck. Of course, freezing your eggs during your prime fertility years (your twenties to early thirties) is optimal. But the average age of the elective cryopreserver (I stole the elegant term from a study titled “Trends In Age In Non Medical Oocyte Cryopreservation”) is late thirties. Still, if you’re gonna do it, do it now – and I’ll eat egg salad every day for a week in your honour.

Freezing your eggs isn’t cheap, but consider this keen financial analysis: storing, feeding and clothing that total ignoramus, Mr Requirements – one of the most intolerable halfwits of all the intolerable halfwits who’ve appeared in the Ask E column – has probably been costing you much more. So here’s a broom, honey. He wants “the house clean”? I give you the honour of sweeping that dickweed out the door, down the street and into the nearest landfill. I know it’s hard to do it, Miss Too. Musicians are famously soulful and difficult to let go. But this lout has you feeling so down on yourself, you don’t even like your own nose.

Finally, if he’s one of the biggest blockheads who’s ever appeared in this column, you, of all women (and men) who’ve written to me over the years, are in one of the best positions to meet a new love. Really, Miss Too – come on. You’re at a great university, in charge of events, for

gawdsakes! Buy yourself a pretty frock, get your hair blown out, be confident that you’re lucky to have such a fine, fascinating nose – it will steer you through your coming triumph – and make an appearance at the next alumni swing-dance fundraiser, ball, symposium, rare-book exhibition and/or gallery talk. You’re off the clock! It’s a new day! Smile! The world is dazzling!

DEAR E JEAN, I’m at my wits’ end! I come from a family plagued by the ghost of a famous artist – my greatgrandfather. No-one in my family (and we’re now scattered around the globe) has been able to escape the burden of the “Great Artist’s” legacy. We’re being torn apart by copyright issues and lawsuits, and it’s wearing me down. Soon I’ll have to take over for my mother and deal with all the disgruntled relatives because my great-grandfather failed to get his, pardon my French, shit in order. I’m so tired. I just want a normal life without someone’s legacy hanging over me and destroying my family – well, what’s left of it, anyway. My biggest fear is that I’ll never be free, that I’ll never be able to live a life that’s simply my own. Help! – Kingdom For A Horse KINGDOM, MY KUMQUAT Because a “great artist” snatches us out of our dull routines and shows us beauty, and because he makes the “unknown known”, as Georgia O’keeffe said, your great-grandpa deserves your (and the world’s) respect and love. But never sacrifice your life to a dead man’s lawsuits. You must do what brings you joy. Your great-grandpa would have snorted like Picasso’s bull if someone asked him to give up his life to protect the “legacy” of an old, dead codger.

Tell your mother what you’re thinking – that you have decided to remove yourself completely from all legal matters pertaining to your great-grandfather. (And gird your loins – she’s going to go batshit! She’s devoted her life to him.) As lawsuits about copyrights are about money, and as money has broken up more families than any other thing on earth, I think it best for you and your mother (after she is tranquil) to call a meeting of family members (via conference call or Skype) and choose a person to lead when your mother decides to hand over the reins. Good luck!

DOCTOR, THAT’S SOME STRANGE LOVE

DEAR E JEAN, I’m trying to figure out the logic of women – of one particular woman – looking for the underlying formula, as it were. I’ve always been a gentleman around her, but for some reason, she isn’t interested in me beyond the friend stage. (I asked her if she was interested, and she said, “Not really.”) In fact, she dates total douchebags. A part of me feels like I’m insane for pursuing her, but another part doesn’t want to give up. I was directed to this column by a friend. Thank you! – Lovesick Scientist MY DEAR SCIENTIST I read your letter with speechless admiration. But we differ on one point, sir: it’s not the “underlying formula” of women you’re looking for, it’s the formula underlying the “total douchebags” whom Miss Not Really – obviously an endearing idiot – loves better than you. So as a scientist – not as a lovestruck male – take a piece of paper and a pen, and let’s do a little analysis. First, list the chief characteristics of a total douchebag. Go on. (You may also include the features of a total asshole, if you wish. The two are often mistaken for each other.) Keep going. Don’t forget anything. Bang ’em down there! (Careful, careful, one doesn’t want to break one’s lead in one’s pencil, sir.)

Good. Now review your list and tick all the douchebag/ asshole elements that you yourself possess. Go ahead. I’ll wait. Excellent. Add up your score. If you have no ticks – zero features of a douchebag/asshole – forget it. Do not pursue. Dickwads are Miss Not Really’s dish, and she’ll never fall for you. But if you have a streak of the bad boy (an entirely different species), and if you’re not always a gentleman, you strike me as having enough vanity, ambition and good looks (I googled you) to pursue her.

One more thing: there’s always the possibility that Miss Not Really, reeling from a disastrous break-up with her latest asshole, will turn to you for solace – and that’s when you show her your big, strong, confident, manly, rulebreaking side. Up your machismo – take her kayaking or hilltop hiking, or shoot a game of pool – and she’ll discover that you could do just as well as a douchebag, and she’ll become as eager to be your girlfriend as you could ever desire. Of course, by the time Miss Not R gets around to changing her mind and finally falls for you, you’ll have lost interest in her, but never mind.

My ex has started following me on Twitter. Of course, now I’m obsessed with him reading my tweets. Please tell me that his following me means he wants to get back together. No, darling. If every chap following us wanted to get together, we’d all have so many boyfriends we wouldn’t have time to tweet.