In case it bears repeating - because really, haven’t I told you 2 or 79 times already that it’s my birthday soon - I’m turning 30 on July 26th. Thirty! Mercy! And me still poor and in sneakers.
I am not really stricken with regret over the lost opportunities or misspent hours of my youth, etc, because frankly I got a lot done since I was a very young lass, and besides there is no real ending looming, just a vague sense that I should’ve packed more action into these innocent days. Action, however, did include some notable events and moments, such as, the most excellent friends, moviemaking, becoming a stellar craftsperson, learning new languages, skateboarding unafraid, helping lots of kids grow up, being in bands, seeing ancient structures, climbing mountains, summer-camping, learning to dive, getting heartbroken and doing some of my best work ever, singing and dancing and throwing up in many different countries.
Part of my nomadic legacy is that I do most things alone; or, I’m the only link between all these disparate people and places. It is a mean loneliness to try to explain my self and experiences, the pictures of me, to people who weren’t there. It is kind of crazy-making. Last weekend hanging out with old friends was like, Remember the bizarre exercises we had to do in City Year in 1997? Remember at college orientation when we had a motivational speaker and the guy he called up on stage was tripping on acid? it was a bigger relief than I can explain, that those things really happened and that I wasn’t there alone.
Being, as you know, prone to distress over the most unpronounceable concerns, I will call this one Lost, as in the show I so love/cry over when they kill people off, and in which the most recent episode I saw featured time-travel as a nonconsensual event which makes you freak out and your nose bleed. The only way to survive the sudden jumps of time + place is to find a constant, something to anchor one in both future and past; it has to be something accessible to you all the time. The scientist with the most clue what was happening found a note in his journal from years before: If anything goes wrong, my constant will be _______. (I’m not saying who, go watch it yourself.) Which makes such terrible sense, and leaves me with: what is my constant?
Dramatic spacebreak! But don’t go wondering; the answer is “my own memory”, which is more than a little disorienting. If I ever get around to getting a tattoo, instead of just drawing on myself with Sharpie, it’ll be a compass. See? Then I’ll always know where I am. If you would like to give me something for my birthday - which you by no means have to, because what I like best is ego-boosting, so just make sure you call me and t