A few years ago I wrote an earnest yet naive essay outlining some pivotal realizations I’d had about life and growth and relationships and cats. When I wrote it, everything in my life was falling apart, but for the better. Kind of like the Berlin Wall.
And also like the Berlin Wall, it took a minute for “the better” the emerge from the rubble. Because of that, the aforementioned essay – titled (I swear, unpretentiously) “How to be Happy in your Early 20s” – continues to resonate with me as I dig through adult life, sifting piles of shit and occasionally unearthing diamonds or spare change.
But I think it’s too late to be living by the rules of an early 20-something, even if that early 20-something was (is? how does existence work?) me. I’m definitely no longer a member of the early 20s club, and I think that once the clock strikes 28 in December I’ll also have my “mid-20s” card revoked. I’m cool with that; relieved, even. But I’m also a humiliatingly sentimental person, and being now in the thick of another of those pivotal periods from whence the “How to be Happy” post emerged, I figured it’d be nice to revise my happiness list from the other side of my twenties.
Turns out, things are a little different over here.
And on that note: ladies and other folks, I present to you:
How to be… Whatever, Who Cares, I’m Tired
A list of things that are true about me and maybe life (title included)
If I had a dollar for every time I had cereal for dinner in the last month, I’d have enough money to NOT have cereal for dinner at least twice. Three times, if I went to In n’ Out.
I’ve been washing this one spoon since I moved into this apartment (in June). It’s had the same brown, crusty smear on the back of it (Nutella? I hope?) every time I take it out of the dishwasher, so I just keep putting it back. At this point, trying to scrub it feels like a retroactive massive waste of time and throwing it away just feels like giving up.
Cats are good best friends to have except that they’re not very empathetic and usually don’t want to hang out with you when you want to hang out with them, basically just like those ephemerally popular assholes we all allowed to make us feel like garbage at some point in our life.
One of my cats snores and I’m a wickedly light sleeper so I have to shake her awake to make her stop sometimes. Last night, when I did that, she violently kangaroo-kicked my forearm (claws out) and then rolled over and started snoring more loudly. So actually, cats are pretty terrible, snoring, ephemeral friends.
They’re still awesome, though. Ephemeral, snoring assholes are not.
I can’t believe I’m the kind of person who uses words like “ephemeral” correctly, without Googling. I used to listen to Anti-Flag and wear studded arm-warmers and have my nose pierced and smoke cigarettes and be 15. Wow.
Thank goodness I’m an adult… ish. Or at least, thank goodness I’m not any of those things I just mentioned (aside from the nose ring; I’ve considered resurrecting that).
I recently had a dream that I took a nap. It was glorious. I’ve had a few glorious dreams like that lately: I’ll be taking a walk on a pretty city street, or sitting in my backyard, or hanging out by the ocean. Once, I was reading a book in my bed. I used to have dreams that I was covered in spiders. It’s weird how deep happiness goes.
Perfection is among the many things that doesn’t and will never exist.
I know I’m not special, and that because I’m not special, I’m the only person who’s actually going to make sure I’m taken care of. So I have to do a good job of it.