It’s rare that I attempt the 2 a.m. Friday night/Saturday morning, not-exactly-sober post. But, I’m feeling inspired so let’s give it a try, shall we?
Tonight I celebrated a friend’s 25th birthday. While she seemed to be in good spirits for the majority of the evening, she ended up going home depressed to be turning another year older.
Now, I’m sitting here, finishing off leftover Pad Thai and thinking to myself, “Gosh, 25 is so young. What could possibly be so upsetting at 25?” I really need to stop eating this Pad Thai. Man it’s good.
Anyway, I feel like the message I’m trying to convey in the post is being muddied by my inability to ignore the takeout counter that is directly to my left. Damn it.
Here’s what. At 25, I figured out that this is my life. There’s no more waiting to finish school or adjusting to first jobs or first apartments. This is it; this is the life I have chosen and for better or worse, alone or with a partner, I have to make it the best I can. If there’s something that I want, I have to make it happen. It’s a hard lesson, and especially for those of us who call ourselves “homebodies” or take solace in Saturday evenings spent on the couch, it’s easy to let life live us instead of the other way around.
When I turned 27, I wrote down a list of goals for this year. Some of the goals I wrote down I knew I would accomplish… like finding a new job and completing a half marathon. Others are more of a long shot, but writing them down was a start. The written word is a commitment to, if nothing else, acknowledging what we want.
How did I finish the entire container of Pad Thai?
A lot of this crap revolves around relationships. On Wednesday, I had a conversation with my trainer about how he’s not OK being alone. I think I gave him the requisite strong (newly) single woman line of, “Well, you’ve got to be happy with yourself” or some crap. Is that true? Can we be happy alone? Lately I’ve been thinking about statistics. Chances those of us who are single now will eventually get married (nevermind the divorce rate for this discussion). But if we don’t and we spend our lives alone, then what? Is it possible to still be happy?
The only thing I know is that nothing ever turns out the way you expect it to. I think I’ve actually written that before and I apologize, Lou + 3 vodka tonics + depressing birthday talk + a blog = a public outlet for a little too much life analysis.
Sometimes it’s easy to wish that I could read the story of my life like a book and flip to the back to find out how everything turns out. But, I guess, in a way, that takes away all the fun of figuring out how to get to what’s next. Of course, I never was one for surprises.