18. the edge
on being a wild moon child
Last evening, Alex and I had a taco night. And it made me reflect on how much I have grown since my early and mid-20s.
Okay, let’s back it up a little. I started reading The Artist’s Way last weekend. I have been thinking about my fiction novel for years now. When I was 20, I told myself that by the time I was 30, I would have a novel out. When I was 25, this number moved to 35. Now, I am 31 and I realise that it is now or never. And working through this book for some reason really feels like the first step. So, as a part of the Week 1 activities, I took myself out on an Artist Date.
I designed it to be a walk with a stopover at a ceramic studio to grab a little pretty tile or something from the vending machine outside of it. The Artist Date was nice but at the end of it, I stopped by at a supermarket I never visit and found a pack of corn tortilla.
I messaged Alex all excited and asked him to pick up other groceries, we are having a little taco night. Cut to two hours later, we sat at our kitchen table, laughing, joking and eating our homemade tacos. And all of a sudden, I thought, “wow, I am just so incredibly grateful to be here right now.”
Just a few years ago, I would have perceived a Friday night involving eating tacos at the kitchen table as a pretty stupid activity. Friday nights had to involve some form of “exciting” activity. And staying in by no means was an “exciting” thing to do. I spent almost every weekend at a gig, at a bar, on a date, getting smashed with my friends and doing something reckless and stupid. I know if you see me now, that’s hard to believe. But my twenties were a wild era.
There was so much happening all the time. I remember one Friday, when I wanted to go see a band who I had barely listened to and was obsessed with a single song of theirs. I convinced my friends to join us and we headed to one of their houses to blaze through three bottles of wine between three of us.
Teetering on our heels, we reached the club, danced on that one song that we all knew (because I had played it constantly for them for a week or so leading up to the concert) and ended up chilling on the balcony after. I lost our pack of cheap cigarrettes and was driven to bum smokes from strangers, hitching my dress up, flirting with drunk men, leaning a little too hard on people I shouldn’t have trusted.
It really is a miracle that I am alive. It’s a miracle that I am sane because my twenties were anything but. But do I regret having lived like that?
Last week at brunch, my friend Leyla asked me, “if you had a child, would you recommend them to live their twenties like you did yours?”
I don’t think I will ever have the opportunity to advise a child of my own on the benefits of living your twenties on the edge. But to everyone else and their children, I would recommend never letting your good sense, your fear of judgement and your logical brain tell you that you don’t deserve to live your life the way you want to – safe or wild.
Until next time, stay wild,