Twenty

Note: I apologize for the way this entry is going to sway between description and meandering thought.

My birthday has always been a highly convoluted affair, and yesterday was no exception.

The anticipation starts mounting from New Years day. I plan an elaborate celebration with a band of my best friends. I make reservations. I bake brownies. I stock every shelf of my fridge with beer. An adult formula for fun.

I had planned to be up the Empire State Building at midnight on my birthday, but the fates conspired to close the observatory deck because it was freezing (where is global warming when you need it?). Plan B brought me to the Brooklyn Promenade after midnight. I crossed the threshold out of my teens and into my twenties not admiring the view of my city from the top of its most stunning creation. Instead, I found myself on a subway platform waiting for the C and counting rats. Glorious.

I woke up later that day, but it was still early. Overnight I had morphed into that ungrateful, snarky anti-socialite I usually am on my birthday. I decided to take a long walk to prepare myself for all the people I'd have to greet with an artificial smile plastered across my face. Those damn bastards who want to commemorate my day of birth, how dare they!

I didn't carry my phone or wear my watch. The snow bludgeoned down and coated the parts of my hair that my overwhelmed hoodie could not cover. I walked west on 23rd to the Flatiron building, where I got a clear view of the beautiful building that had rejected me 7 hours ago. I'm living in a tourist's snow globe - of course he picked today to give it a shake and fuck everything up.

My legs led me to the unlit shop window of children's bookstore I had stumbled upon a couple of weeks ago on a cupcake-run.

From Black Sand Journal

On that day, I sat on a bench in the back and reread the book above. It is my favorite kids story because it deals with anger. Max is pissed off and envisions himself king of an island inhabited by monstrous figments of his raging imagination. I cope with my flurries of fury in a similar fashion. I will obliterate whoever I am annoyed at with my vitriolic rhetoric in a make-believe argument. I save all my malice and caustic remarks for these unreal arenas; I imagine my opponent sniveling in shame and wincing with indignation. I always feel better, and I rarely let any of that venom seep into the real-world counterparts.

I walked downtown on Broadway. For all the unhappy events that punctuated my childhood, I cannot deny the delight with which I read books, played football, and watched cartoons. I've spent my entire life wanting to be older, but now that I'm there I suddenly want to be younger. I associated age with the ability to abscond and be independent of everything - not true. All that changes is who you want to escape. Still a caged bird, the keys have just passed hands to new owners.

Self-doubt accompanied me as I headed east on 18th. I want to dedicate my life to people, but I don't have the strength to devote myself to a person. Did I mean that? Why am I planning a night of alcohol-induced merriment to celebrate my birthday if I previously decided that I'm more concerned with the aggregate amount of human happiness because my personal supply is so unsatisfying? As that disturbing notion occurred to me, I began to rue the fact I left my notebook and pen at home. If I can't remember these thoughts by the time I get home, how important are they really?

I sauntered down Irving Place. I keep telling a friend that I would do unspeakable things to live in particular neighborhoods of New York, and the area surrounding Gramercy Park is certainly one them. Her advice to me was to start sleeping with residents of the areas of town I admire (no elaborations on that point on this blog).

I dusted the snow off That Black Jacket before heading inside. In an unexpected twist, the rest of my day ended up being amazing. I think it's because I made hummus from scratch - the tahini that I add always does something kooky to me. I was bouncing off the walls at dinner, there was no need to indulge in the bottle (oh, but I did). I had not felt such sheer elation in a very, very, long time. To see some of the people I care for the most all together with me on my birthday engraved a real smile across my face. It must have been the hummus.

The night (kind of) ended at the front desk with my head spinning as I watched YouTube videos of the security guard a.k.a Mamba King. While I patiently stared at this man dancing Salsa on the offending computer screen, my body shivered and convulsed uncontrollably because about five minutes earlier I decided to bask in the brisk winter night wearing slippers and That Black Jacket, unzipped. The (appropriately dressed) person with whom I stood in the cold had made some complimentary remark regarding my intellect earlier in the night. She should reconsider.

The intervening hours between the consumption of hummus and the gyrating security guard were fun for reasons I do not quite understand yet. I stopped thinking for an evening. Many of my emotional preoccupations vanished last night, as did some other self-imposed limits. I have made mountains of thought today to make up for it, much of which I'm not ready to publish yet. Till then, please listen to Elliott Smith's "Say Yes," and revel in (or reflect fondly on) your twenties.

From Black Sand Journal