Walking the Line

11/24/09

Before I knew it, we were the last two standing at the bar. Fueled by more than a few shots of vodka, one minute Brad and I were struggling to talk over the blaring music and the next minute we were lip locked. That was a typical evening for 25-year-old me. The good life of living with reckless abandon.

I recalled this fond memory of my yesteryears soon after things with Lorenzo fizzled. There were no more prospects so I had lots of time to stroll down memory lane. Feeling the stress of work and life, I longed for the days (and nights) of my early twenties when stumbling in stilettos from hot spot to hot spot, 4 a.m. pizza pit stops, and makeout sessions at the bar were acceptable common practice. Very few of us had crossed over to that lake called love and set up camp with a significant other. I was one among many and was having the time of my life.

Eventually the partying lost its luster and I realized that this almost 30-year-old body couldn’t do it like it used to anymore. That this almost 30-year-old body craved Friday nights curled up on the couch with pajamas, a movie, and a glass of wine as opposed to pounding the pavement en route to the latest line behind the velvet rope. Furthermore, I started to remember some of the other pitfalls of that phase in my life. There were the boys that didn’t call (even after the great kisses in the backs of cabs and the promises of dates to come). There were the boys that were emotionally unavailable, like Brad, who once slept in his shoes to not-so-subtly prove he wasn’t sticking around for the long haul. Then there were the blisters from the stilettos that hadn’t been worn in and the vicious mornings of making friends with the toilet after downing too many drinks. Maybe that wasn’t the good life after all.

With further thought and reflection, I realized that maybe what I needed was to settle down. The sudden onset of multiple friends getting engaged, getting preggers, or getting serious, had spurred heart palpitations, shallow breaths, and cold sweats! I exaggerate, but seriously, as excited as I was to share in their joy, their progress forced me to reckon with my own life’s journey, which at this point felt like being in a car with the wheels spinning in place. Lots of effort and energy expended, but in the same place I began. Not that I think it’s a race to the altar or the delivery room (especially in light of the break ups I’ve seen). I’m not in a rush. But in looking around, seeing how my camp had dwindled, and not seeing any potential, I felt like having a Charlotte moment and shouting , “Where is he?!” from my rooftop. I want the house with the picket fence and the car with the car seats for my 2.5 kids. The dreams of my girlhood that I thought I’d have by now.

So that's where I stood after Lorenzo. Walking the line between the girlhood of my past and the womanhood of my future. One foot in each door. Straddling the fence. But with more thought and reflection, I changed my perspective. I realized that real life isn’t always what you expect, but always what you need. Growing up in a strict household, I needed this wild phase in my life to develop into who I am. To be stronger, wiser, and better equipped to handle what’s next. To enjoy not having to answer to anyone. To be free to sleep in Saturdays and have spur of the moment brunch Sundays. To realize that I didn’t want him to call me back in the first place. To upgrade to Absolut and avoid the hangover from Aristocrat. I realized I can’t change my past nor can I rush my future, but what I can control is my perspective in the present and to savor this moment. After all, life is a gift. Live in it. Learn in it.