I believe that I have stated on several occasions that I am interested neither in traveling back in time or in reliving my younger and more exuberant years.
If one were interested in defining the more exuberant period of my life, I would direct them to ages 21 to nearly 25. As I approached 25, I began to realize that the exuberant lifestyle was not as appealing as it once was. Conveniently, that was also the time when B and I started dating.
The summer before B and I started dating, I moved in with a fellow fun-loving roommate. Our apartment, while extremely affordable, was located in a hoody area but was within walking distance of a vibrant part of the city that featured every type of food that you can imagine and more than a handful of night spots.
My roommate and I enjoyed our last call of bar hopping that summer. The details of such outings are not necessarily relevant here so I shall omit them but you can rest assured that we had an enjoyable time.
And as I mentioned, it was my last hurrah. Much as I admired the ladies in Sex and the City, I didn't see the bar scene fitting into my life on a long-term basis. A sour apple-tini, despite its ingredients, is simply not an adult beverage.
I gave up that scene and quite willingly, too. Friday morning breakfasts no longer consisted of bacon, egg, and cheese McGriddles, and Friday mornings were easier in general. I woke up refreshed and ready to enjoy my free time on Saturday and Sunday mornings. Life was better.
But I have to confess that I still have one link to my more exciting past and have not been able to get rid of it, despite all logical arguments that its existence in life is pointless and useless.
You see, I have a VIP card to one of the bars that I used to frequent. How I acquired the card is a story for another time. However, its existence granted me front-of-the-line privileges at an establishment that frequently had out-the-door waits.
I am not holding out hope of someday using the card. The bar, despite its awesome Sunday brunch buffet, is long gone from that location. (Though a sister bar does still exist in NYC. I assume they are related - same name and same font - but one never knows. However, my VIP card clearly states the bar's former address.)
So why am I unable to let go of the card? The fondness with which I view that time of my life has certainly not taken on a hint of wistfulness; I am not sorry to be done with that entire scene. But perhaps there is a part of me that wants to be assured that should I want to venture back, I could, and the transition would be seamless.
And so I continue to hold on to my VIP card, using it as a bookmark as I read in bed before going to sleep. And yes, I go to bed at 9, and yes, I get very cranky when life tries to keep me up past my bedtime. But my VIP card reminds me that once upon a time, I could--and did--shut 'em down with the best of them.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Looking back on the decade
Since I was born at nearly the end of 1979, my ten-year age milestones coincide nicely with the turning of the decades. As we say good-bye to the oughts (an unfortunate name but I haven’t heard anything better), so I say good-bye to my twenties.
The oughts and my twenties, they were a tumultuous time: wild at the beginning for me, and downright unruly toward the end for the oughts.
Ten years ago, I had no idea who I was, but I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to get get away, and so I did. First to England, for a summer abroad, and then to Florida, for a bacchanalistic year of shaking my emotional groove thang. I fought hard to figure out who I was and vowed never to lose myself.
As my confidence grew amid controversies of hanging chads (of which I was blissfully ignorant, thanks to a steady TV diet consisting of early, bad reality television and the occasional episode of Blind Date), the tech bubble sputtered its last breath. While earning my $5.65 per hour (yes, really), I was surrounded by liberal arts grads making little more than I. A game plan was in order.
Back to school I went, and then down came the towers, right in the middle of my English class. Our world was never the same again.
But onward we went because that’s how it has to be. I bought my first car, the sturdy and reliable Island Corolla. Next came interviews, a job offer, graduation, and then a move to the city, a studio apartment of my own because every magazine I ever read said that you had to live by yourself at least once.
I lived paycheck to paycheck, trying to pay off college credit card debt—an experience that taught me that credit card debt eats away at your soul and is to be avoided at all costs, and the definition of comfort is an emergency fund—as the economy struggled to recover, as people mourned the loss of stock options while taking jobs with significant pay cuts.
I paid off my debt, found roommates and a cheaper apartment, learned to offset my reality television intake with the study of current events, and tried to come to terms with the fact that my job was killing me slowly.
And then I met B. Rather, since we had worked together for over two years, I cast my eyes in his direction, and our story unfolded.
Time flew. My soul demanded an escape, so it was time for me to find a new job. Inspired by a life outside the castle, B followed suit. And as the housing market, the second major bubble of the decade, became more and more inflated, the lure of real estate was difficult to resist.
Oh, hindsight. But how I do love our house, despite our lengthy commutes and the overly aggressive neighbor who broke our doorbell. (Long story.)
And then came a proposal, on the evening of a blizzard, and wedding plans began in earnest. A honeymoon in Paris and Nice followed, and a year later, we watched the financial markets collapse from the comfort of our Florence hotel suite. Farewell, Lehman and Bear. Farewell, healthy 401k plans.
The next year, we elected a new president. I felt more comfortable traveling in other countries. I vowed to continue traveling as much as I could, for long as I could. And so we have.
The decade has come to a close, as have my twenties, and I can honestly say that if I were allowed to travel 10 years back in time to the beginning of the decade, I would smile, relive some fond memories, and politely decline. I’ve earned my place in life and have no intention of giving it up.
Here’s to the next decade; maybe it be as informative and fascinating as its predecessor.
The oughts and my twenties, they were a tumultuous time: wild at the beginning for me, and downright unruly toward the end for the oughts.
Ten years ago, I had no idea who I was, but I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to get get away, and so I did. First to England, for a summer abroad, and then to Florida, for a bacchanalistic year of shaking my emotional groove thang. I fought hard to figure out who I was and vowed never to lose myself.
As my confidence grew amid controversies of hanging chads (of which I was blissfully ignorant, thanks to a steady TV diet consisting of early, bad reality television and the occasional episode of Blind Date), the tech bubble sputtered its last breath. While earning my $5.65 per hour (yes, really), I was surrounded by liberal arts grads making little more than I. A game plan was in order.
Back to school I went, and then down came the towers, right in the middle of my English class. Our world was never the same again.
But onward we went because that’s how it has to be. I bought my first car, the sturdy and reliable Island Corolla. Next came interviews, a job offer, graduation, and then a move to the city, a studio apartment of my own because every magazine I ever read said that you had to live by yourself at least once.
I lived paycheck to paycheck, trying to pay off college credit card debt—an experience that taught me that credit card debt eats away at your soul and is to be avoided at all costs, and the definition of comfort is an emergency fund—as the economy struggled to recover, as people mourned the loss of stock options while taking jobs with significant pay cuts.
I paid off my debt, found roommates and a cheaper apartment, learned to offset my reality television intake with the study of current events, and tried to come to terms with the fact that my job was killing me slowly.
And then I met B. Rather, since we had worked together for over two years, I cast my eyes in his direction, and our story unfolded.
Time flew. My soul demanded an escape, so it was time for me to find a new job. Inspired by a life outside the castle, B followed suit. And as the housing market, the second major bubble of the decade, became more and more inflated, the lure of real estate was difficult to resist.
Oh, hindsight. But how I do love our house, despite our lengthy commutes and the overly aggressive neighbor who broke our doorbell. (Long story.)
And then came a proposal, on the evening of a blizzard, and wedding plans began in earnest. A honeymoon in Paris and Nice followed, and a year later, we watched the financial markets collapse from the comfort of our Florence hotel suite. Farewell, Lehman and Bear. Farewell, healthy 401k plans.
The next year, we elected a new president. I felt more comfortable traveling in other countries. I vowed to continue traveling as much as I could, for long as I could. And so we have.
The decade has come to a close, as have my twenties, and I can honestly say that if I were allowed to travel 10 years back in time to the beginning of the decade, I would smile, relive some fond memories, and politely decline. I’ve earned my place in life and have no intention of giving it up.
Here’s to the next decade; maybe it be as informative and fascinating as its predecessor.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)