Forcing It

So, my 25th Birthday is looming on the horizon. It’s next week and I’m really torn. On one hand I’m happy to have my teens and early twenties further behind me. On the other, I don’t feel prepared to put in the work that I know I have to. I feel behind in life because on the eve of my 25th I don’t have a degree, no savings, and have never held a job for more than 10 months. It’s crushing, my failure. 

I have never had a happy relationship with birthdays. I don’t fully understand the effort people put in to celebrate the march towards death. The celebration of youth and irresponsibility is appealing to me in its exotic nature. I’ve never had much of a place for immaturity in my life. I began to take care of myself at a very young age and developed an independent nature early. This was a self-fulfilling prophecy and my family felt my need to be left alone was just and did exactly so. They left me alone. 

Birthdays were never warm for me growing up. The birthdays that we typically remember, I certainly do, just not for the right reasons. An arcade, a wildlife center, house parties with hats and goodie bags. None of them went the way you would wish. 

At this point I feel that I should make myself very clear. I love my family. They were supportive and loving. They laid the foundation I needed to grow in to the person who I am today. They drove me places I needed to be driven to. They helped with homework. They told me it was OK. But the thing I can’t recall from my youth was warmth. 

I deserve to have my birthdays go the way I want. That’s all there is to it. I am an adult and I am to be respected on the simple occasion of wishing to not have MY birthday high-jacked by other folks’ ideal. 

Weeks ago I wanted to delete my birthday from my calender, the internet, my peoples memories. Days ago I wanted to take half a day off and go for a walk, get a massage and maybe some ice cream. Today I just want it to be the day after. I want to be 25 without having to bear the phone calls from relatives, the Facebook posts, and the smiles and well wishes at work. 

You mean well, I know that to be true. But the road to hell is paved with good intentions. You can’t reconcile the idea of loving and caring for someone and then passing over the simple request to have things remain very low key on “their” day.  

So this is basically me just balling up my fists and scowling. I just want to be left alone.

This ends with me swallowing my emotions and feigning excitement. 

Tired of all of the crap being pushed around Tumblr like so many peas around a disinterested child’s plate. Ferraris, celebrities with amazing wardrobes, handcrafted boats in crystal blue waters, leggy women wearing translucent, flowing white clothes while brushing their hair just so…

I roll my eyes so often that I have developed a spasm.

How about we raise a glass to the lives we are able to live?

It’s easy to look stylish when you make $20,000,000  a year (if your curious, that’s in the neighborhood of $54,000 A DAY) dunking a basketball over some Eastern European people. You just pick up a GQ and throw it at your assistant demanding every clothing item inside be purchased - post haste!

How about looking great on $20,000 a year. How about being brave with patterns, fabrics, trips to salvation army, hand-me down boots, the like. That is so much more difficult.

How about we take a close look at those fixie bikes that are the bread and butter for over half the blogs out there? Have you ever ridden one? Unless you live in a flat, calm area, they are a pain in the ass. Go ahead kid, you got an internship at Etsy’s offices…you deserve it - ‘build’ yourself a custom bike from the Urban Outfitters website. I’m sure that will really get those horn-rimmed hipster cuties to notice you. Maybe that will help you feel better about yourself. But I’m betting that it’ll just put another 90 days between you and the gutting realization that you are still hollow. Cut the crap. Brakes are on bikes for a reason. Gears are on bikes for a reason. You know what’s not cool? Braining yourself on the side of a delivery truck because your a squid.

I don’t need you to show me another photo of P Diddy wearing a tuxedo and an $80,000 watch. The watch is nice, but it’s not special. I would love to own one, sure, they are generally beautiful and well made, but not special. Our buddy Dids doesn’t care about patina, stories, wearing something in… he’s about that diameter, and that shine. Ooh baby that shine.

…and that just isn’t cool. It’s tacky.

And please…take your sun glasses off inside. It’s disrespectful to disallow people looking you in the eye when they are talking to you. It’s weak. It’s childish. I lose so much respect for those that fall victim to this philosophy. I lose hope. Disrespecting everyone around you, however shiny and silent, is still disrespect. And disrespect is the opposite of cool.

Can we as a group get over our obsession with flash? The pomp and circumstance of being unbelievably wealthy? How about being honest, both to ones self and to others? How about showing people your true colors, no matter your bank balance? How about enjoying the gifts you receive from the world around you every day? How about enjoying giving gifts to those around you? Is that too much to ask?