My favorite year.
I gave this a lot of thought. Too much, in fact. How do I know it was too much? Because I brought myself to tears while mulling it over.
I decided to only consider years post-college… so ages 21 to today [nope, not giving up my age… I prefer everyone see me as 29 forever].
If I had considered my earlier years, I would have ended up writing about my childhood again because I really do believe those years were my favorites. Even my high school years were good. I loved school [I know, freak].
But I thought in the interest of pretending to be an adult, I’d pick my favorite year since I graduated college. And that year was… the year I was 25.
Things were pretty damn good that year. Of course, me being me, I didn’t realize how good they were at the time. I only truly see it now. Hindsight and all that.
I had friends. A few really good ones. Sure, one of them turned on me later, one of them moved far far away, one of them left the company for which we both worked and then moved far far away, and one of them was my boyfriend—the ‘one that got away‘ who, obviously, I am no longer with.
I liked my job. It wasn’t some fantastic dream job or even a stop on my amazing career path, but that’s mostly because I didn’t [and don’t] know what my dream job or my career path are. But I enjoyed what I was doing, I learned a lot, it was a pleasant place to work, I liked [most of] my coworkers, and my boss was hilarious.
I lived in the best apartment I’ve ever had. That apartment is better than my current house. I loved the location, the charm, and the space. I loved the ‘extras‘—the front and back balconies, the window that was in the perfect spot to climb out and sit on the roof, the built-ins in the dining room, the pantry. Oh my god, the pantry. I still dream of it. I never should have moved out of that place.
I was more outgoing-ish. I went to bars and live shows and met up with people from work and with my radio station friends. I found the best frozen mudslide in the entire metro-Boston area. My coffee-shop-guy knew me by name. I even had traces of self-confidence!
And I was in great shape and had a killer wardrobe… and lots of great shoes.
Life is just not the same once you have kids. Where the fuck is my money? Or my time? Or my will to live?
I guess I was in a good place when I was 25. I was still content when I was 26 [or as content as one can be when one is me]. But then things started to crumble. I started to crumble. And I’ve been deteriorating ever since. Now, there’s not much left.
But what is left of me needs to go to the beach because my love is waiting for me…
…in my dreams.
p.s. — I wish I could pick a least favorite year—one that truly stands out as the worst—because that would imply that there was only one such terrible year. But the truth is that I’ve had a lot of bad years. At 28, I made some stupid decisions that shaped my life (and it’s not a good shape). 2020? Fuck no. 2021? Not looking much better. My confidence is at an all-time low—quite an achievement since I never had much to begin with. My life is a total mess. My world is falling apart. Most days, I’m not sure why I bother getting out of bed.