an ode to my early twenties.

 

There was a period of my life when I felt light, carefree. Light as a feather. I'd swing and twist and nearly lift my toes right off the ground to fly. I knew there were consequences, but when they came, I dealt with them casually, flippantly, did the minimal amount to make them go away so I could go back to feeling infinitely small and able to be blown every which way by the universe.

 

This lightness, it wasn't always a good thing. It's doesn't inspire much hope for digging your heels into the ground and holding steady.

 

Steady. Steady, now.

 

In my early twenties, geez, nothing felt steady. Not my living situation, my bank account, my relationships, especially my means of expressing my emotions. No, I was light. Too light for steady. A constant state of flux means lots of wonderful, beautiful change. But it also means nothing is certain, stable.

 

There was nothing sturdy about my existence.

 

Light is good, though, for a number of reasons. It allows for curiosity, adventure, learning to compromise and improvise. It's recklessness and pushing the boundaries and finding out how it feels when you say nothing when every fiber of your being screams 'Take a stand!"

 

I have this vision of myself, my early twenties self. I'm expelling and consuming so much energy, I'm feeling like I could be blown miles by one mouthful of breath sent in my direction as a gust. I'm so light that the smallest thing, a smell, a chord, one word can send me reeling to further boundaries in my emotional spectrum than I ever previously knew possible. I'm learning at every turn so much. I'm gobbling it all up so willingly. Why wouldn't I?

 

But I mean, there's the other side of that too.

 

I'm spending my last 200 dollars on that pair of jeans that make my butt look the best it's ever looked, because what could possibly be more important than a pair of jeans that fit perfectly? I'll pay my phone bill next month, I swear. And then I'll swear off jeans completely in the next sentence, but it doesn't matter. I'm too light to be reached and dragged down. I'll just float away from it all.

 

It was a time to abuse my body and my mind, really put it through the test of everything it can take.

 

There's something to be said about being willing to completely let go of everything around you. Relinquish control. I'm not so good at that now, things weigh down on me, hold me in place,  prevent me from throwing back those five extra shots. Or maybe it's the feeling the next day etched into my memory from being repeated one too many times.

 

Either way, I'm heavier now, in a sense. And that's fine. Really, it is. I mean, it's just one of those things I think that happens with time. You brush up against things and the friction leaves their residue and pretty soon you're covered in parts and pieces of everything you've ever run into, and the build up makes you heavier. Or something like that.

 

Isn't it hilarious how people never change? Isn't it heartbreaking to realize that we have to anyway?

 

When you're young, when you're light, there's still hope that one day you'll collide into one another full speed again. They'll catch up, or you will, or you'll find a way back to each other through darkened alleys and fields of wildflowers. It's easier. It helps you to stay light to think this way. You're never as naive as when you tell yourself that you're going to be forever friends with the person that just drove away from you.

 

I mean, you've just given them part of your heart. You feel lighter just from it's lack of mass in your chest cavity.

 

  

Dearest self. You did light like a champion. It's possible that you did the very best you could have done with what you had. Maybe no one could have done it better in this body, hooked up to this mind. Certainly no one could have done it the exact same way. No one could have possibly ended up in the exact same places and time that you did.

 

I came out whole.

 

That time is over.

 

I may be heavier, but it's not necessarily a bad thing. I feel whole, sturdy, up to the challenge. And sometimes, every now and then, I still feel slivers of light hitting me at the right angle. And I dance and float in them.

fickle march, fickle me

maybe i need to stop taking emo pics and actually work through my emotions. nahhhh.

The other morning on my way to work I sat through an entire red light without realizing my right turn signal was blinkblinkblinking away. I was going straight. I flipped it off as I accelerated through the light and looked around sheepishly at the other cars to see if anyone was pissed and/or making obscene gestures at me. Guess everyone was feeling pretty tame that morning because I didn't get a single side-eye. Maybe they thought it was a late April Fools joke. A cheap leftover.

 

I guess I lost myself there for a second in contemplating what a good month March was to me this year. To tell the truth, I've never really had any real affinity toward Spring. I get it, I get it. Rebirth, life, emerging on the other side of Winter. It's all well and good to see green again and to not feel like my fingers and ears are going to fall off every time I step outside, but really, I'm in it for Summer. Spring is just another thing to endure before blistering heat, minimal clothing, and the promise of campfires and sunshine and reading while partially submerged in water.

 

Spring is fickle. It changes its mind too often, threatens to give my psyche whiplash. It's soggy and tumultuous, despite the hardy daffodils and magnolias that quickly remind us of all to come and then fade until next year.They're a treat, but they're not made to last.  No wonder Picses are the way that they are, they kick off Spring. Anyone born at the start of such a finicky season is bound to brood. And yet, I'm attracted to the depth and the endless rollercoaster ride that the Picses in my life take me on. As I've mentioned probably a hundred times, I'm a summer soul through and through.  I usually have no use for finicky March. For the battle of rain and sun, warm and cold.  Why should I? I know who is going to win out, let's get on with the next.

 

I sometimes feel like my entire life is a series of waiting to get on with the next.

 

I don't know, I mean, I make as much effort as the next guy to really be present in the moment and enjoy where I am, but the fact of the matter is that I'm like a half-starved animal- I'm always reaching, stretching, grasping, struggling for more. Just a little further. Just a little tiny bit more. Just just just just.

 

 

Just slow down, Sara.

 

Let's consider real life for a moment.

 

Have I mentioned recently that I'm moving to Montana in a few short months? Yeah. That's happening. In my mind I'm so overwhelmed by the fact that I'm going to pacify this internal pull to run to the mountains that I don't even know where to start here. What can I do but wait until it's finally time?

 

I know this thinking isn't productive. It doesn't encourage lists or tying up loose ends or force me to grapple with leaving the life I've forged here. It's so confusing that I don't feel joy or sadness or anything really. Just the knowledge that I'm going, the impatience that I'm not there yet, and the dull sinking feeling that comes with knowing that there is so much to do before I depart. But I feel sort of stuck, like there's nothing I can do right in this exact moment in time, and that frustration feels raw and itchy. It's a rash I wear constantly. It's distracting and demanding. It takes so much effort and will power to keep it at bay.

 

And this is the line I dream of:

 

"Let there be rock and roll on the dashboard rado; let there be occasional hands bongoing on the dashboard. Let that white line in the middle of the far west two-lane highway come feeding into the screen..." -Jack Kerouac

 

My soul is so far away from my body and right now I feel ugently that, for once, it is crucial that my soul and body inhabit the same plane.

 

And yet March was wonderful and wild. I planted bulbs and pulled weeds and watched little green tongues poke through the soil, so hungry for sunlight. I welcomed a member of my family and watched my sister become a mother, a role she falls into so naturally that I'm once again shocked that we can at the same time be so alike and so differerent. I got accepted into school and decided on a new life path. I had serious conversations with Matt about our future, read many delightful books, saw one of my favorite bands in concert, and painted some beautiful pictures. I started running again and told my boss that I'm gone by summer's end and cheered my alma mater all the way to the final four. I celebrated the birthdays of my sister and brother and got a sun tan on my face and arms from a week straight of 80 degree days.

 

March was full, you guys.

 

Full of good.

 

It deserved to be treasured and polished for memory.

 

So why do I feel so distracted by something I can't pull out of my periphery? It's right there, but I can't catch it staring straight on.

growing up is nearly impossible...for me

Sometimes if I go like two whole weeks without showing up to work even moderately hungover, even one time.... I classify myself as an adult.

It's like getting a mushroom and doubling your size in Mario Brothers. I'M BIG!

Yeah, I know. That statement doesn't really speak much for my maturity or responsibility levels.

But I think that may have something to do with the fact that I never really feel like an adult.

Sure, I've mostly paid my bills on time for the past six or so years, I usually don't forget to take out my contacts before I fall asleep at night, and I'm basically 1/2 responsible for a giant dog monster who makes messes that I HAVE TO CLEAN UP and sometimes ruins my things and then I HAVE TO FORGIVE HER. So yeah, I've come a long way.

Still, I feel like I've got some kind of Peter Pan complex or something at times. Or I wonder if certain things about me are just me not being grown up yet and I'll mature my way right out of them when the magical day comes, or if this is it, this is just my personality and I'm going to be this way forever.

This is sort of vague, but that's because it's sort of general. It's never one specific thing, but sometimes it manifests itself as me spending all of my remaining 'wiggle room' money for the next two weeks on dinner and a movie for two. Or sometimes it rears its head as 'forgetting' to brush my teeth one night because my toothbrush is all the way out in my car and zzzzzzzomg it's cold outside and I'm already in bed and sooo comfy and warm and I don't have pants on so obviously I'll just brush them in the morning. And don't even mention flossing. Shit.

I swear I'm done disgusting you with my oral hygiene now.

It's just that there's no guide. I am a reader. I average five books and week and you can verify that with my disgruntled boyfriend because that's not even an exaggeration. I read. All. the. time. There are guides to help you grow up. To help you get healthy. To help you get happy. To help you land an interview. To help you land a job. There are guides for navigating your health insurance and benefits and guides to help you cope with the blows life will inevitably hurl at you from point blank while you're totally unaware, living your life, trying to find the corresponding guide for whatever situation you're in. As someone who often feels totally inept at living, I have read these guides.

And they're useful.

But none of them teach you how not to lose your shit in your car on that asshole that just pulled out in front of you because they, in fact, may be the person interviewing you for that dream job for which you thought you were a shoe-in. They don't tell you that flossing five times in the 24 hours before you go to the dentist after totally neglecting to do so since your last visit isn't going to fool that fucking doctor. (Sorry, I guess I'm really fixated on teeth today.) Or that even though you can totally wake up on time and drag yourself to work hungover, you are not fooling anyone and will basically serving as a walking billboard for AA for the rest of the day.

Nope, those are lessons you have to learn on your own. Lessons I have learned. Along with many more. Humiliation is a good teacher.

And every time I think I've mastered one and dodged the embarrassment of that "Oh Christ, who is this immature clown in our midst?" moment, about four more surround and ambush me.

So maybe I don't rely on my bar receipts to tell me the story of if I have enough money left in my account to fill up my car with gas anymore, but I wish I could say those days were further back in the rear view then they actually are.

I guess, at my age, I am an adult. I'm certainly not a teenager anymore. But it's about time since I'm closer to 30 than my teen years. I want to be treated like an adult by society. I want to reap the benefits that come with being able to handle the responsibilties of being a contributing member of society... if there are any. I want to look at my bank account and not instantly think "Okay, I get paid in ___ days, Marie Calendar $1 meals, welcome to my kitchen. I want to someday muster the courage and funds to purchase a home.

I'm clawing and crawling my way slooooowly in that general direction. I'm trying to be an adult. I've even mastered business casual, even though I sometimes try to push the casual as far as it will go. Like today.
I rarely ever go buy new underwear to avoid doing laundry anymore.

But note that was 'rarely' and not 'never,' so while I may be an adult, no, I'm not grown up.