Almost a year has gone by without blogging!
I just turned 27... As I began to type that sentence, I put 28. I am officially old enough to forget how old I am. Late twenties are a good time. I feel like I am out of the era of my life where I felt so certain I would always feel lost. I am happy to relay the fact that your early twenties are just made for figuring yourself out. Not lost – just young. Also, you never really stop trying to figure things out. Any one I have forced into a semiserious conversation about self-discovery have confirmed that it is a pilgrimage. And yes, I have forced coworkers, friends, family, and perfect strangers into conversations about things that I am curious about. When does life get better?
Everyone has a different answer, but most conclude that there are just good and bad seasons. Growing older is a gift.
This year I have felt older. My face is starting to gather more prominent wrinkles by the corners of my eyes, and I started using a retinol cream. I feel more affected by gravity – i.e.my boobs! Ahhh the glamourous side of encroaching on late twenties-early thirties. Aging is a gift.
For my 27th birthday I went to a Shania Twain concert with some friends from childhood. It felt so wonderful to listen to the music that our mothers played for us, when we were little girls playing together. We are all in different spaces in life right now, but it was a lovely reminder that some friendships permeate all seasons of life. As we shimmied ourselves into what I would only describe as glitzy western wear for the concert, one of my friends whipped out a spray bottle of glitter. It felt déjà vu. I had been in this moment before, with that same friend group. I was brought back to being 15 with the same girls. The same bottle of glitter. In that moment I said, “I feel like this is the same glitter we used in high school”, and my friend Taylor agreed that it probably was.
I hope that someday we are little old ladies, brought back together for whatever occasions life presents for a good reunion. I imagine us as full of loudness and laughter as we are now… perhaps even more boisterous with age. I hope someone brings out the body glitter. We will be old and nasty, sparkling. MORE GLITTER!
Speaking of MORE glitter… The instant that Taylor took out the glittery spray, I was reminded that I will take a good thing too far. It’s who I am. Taylor went around the room and gave every person a generous spray, from head to toe. As Taylor got to spraying me with glitter, my eyes sparkled back. After the room cleared out, I did give myself another spritz. I probably looked less concert goer, and more Edward Cullen from Twilight when he gets in direct sunlight.
That is my lack of self-control. *SPARKLE*
I can’t help myself that given the opportunity to go all out, I will. It is apparent in my love of dressing up and committing to the bit. A great example of this is when I recently went to WWE with a few friends, and my roommate Reilly and I dressed up in Canadian tuxedos. I suppose two things need to be explained-
1.WWE is fake wrestling, where full grown men and women create bizarre and hard to follow story lines, so that they can wrestle in shiny spandex.
2.A Canadian tuxedo is when you are wearing denim on denim. Denim pants. Denim jacket. This look really popped off in the early 2000’s. Google it. Please.
Reilly and I really blended in the WWE crowd. So much denim. So many men with mutton chops. It was an electric event at the MODA Center.
As we settled down into our seats, there was a noticeable haze that coated the air. At first, I thought it was a fog machine to add a dramatic effect for the WWE show. It took me all of a few seconds to smell the marijuana; the true culprit for the haze. Oh Portland! As the show went on, I began to understand why the Canadian tuxedo was a short-lived fad. The denim was sweltering. We made our way out of the venue, and on to the next stop for food. As we rolled into a nice restaurant bar, we weren’t entirely out of place in our early 2000’s getup. If there is one thing to know about Portland Oregon, thrift and vintage is always in. As we sat at the end of the bar knocking back Oysters, I swear I got a nod from a gentleman with a mustache. An acknowledgment of two souls in a room who know that fashion can be so bad that it is good. Joking.
People watching in a Portland bar is great entertainment. So many hairstyles and outfits that I don’t have the balls to wear but love to see on other people. I like to imagine who people are outside of the establishment. It is part of my taking things too far *sparkle*- I can’t help but imagine who people might be. I listen in and try not to ignore the person I am with, while I take in the people around us. I love to catch a quick glimpse of humanity, I think. I try to hear people, and what they think is worth sharing on a first date, or at a gathering of sorts.
I recently overheard (while I was intentionally eavesdropping), a family with adult children talking about what the key to happiness is. As indicated at the beginning of this blog – I am dying for answers about life.
I will soak up the wisdom of a stranger who doesn’t know I am listening. I am selfish like that. I want to know the collective experiences people have with these abstract concepts.
The mother of the family told her children who looked to be about mid 30’s that we use social media to escape something painful about our existence. She said that “to be happy, you have to stop trying to escape the pains of life, and lean into it, get through it, don’t look outside yourself.”
I was like holy shit! Wow! I immediately put my phone on the table, face down. I suppose I was trying to look like someone who wasn’t in pain. I agree that it can be so easy to tune into different vices to escape the discomforts in life. I really appreciated the insight, that this stranger did not freely give to me- I stole it. I eavesdropped and was deeply affected. I closed my tab and was mindful to not glance at my phone as I walked out.
Perhaps she would perceive me as a person who wasn’t deeply aching in life. She would see a woman with long brown hair walk by- not afraid to look up.
Truthfully, I am trying really hard not to look outside myself. I think that is why life gets better as you get older- you are more comfortable with leaning into yourself.
This year I’ve thought a lot about my dad. I miss him. I am almost the age he was when he had me. It hurts me to think how much time has passed since he died. I am 27 now, and despite my forgetfulness, I will be 28, 29, 30, and on and on. He only knew me up to 24. There are facets to life that will always hurt. There are bad seasons. I am genuinely grateful to be older. I love that there are years of life where you get to feel more leveled. Ahhhh the smooth transition from talking about WWE and Canadian tuxedos to life lessons taught by unknowing bar goers. That’s my sliding scale of thoughts hahaha.
27 is good! I will continue to eavesdrop for slivers of wisdom! (and occasional gossip mwahahaha)
I will try to be a more faithful writer.
Libby Anne Groseclose