On My 25th Birthday
Yesterday I woke up in the morning, put on a pair of nice jeans and a new suit jacket, grabbed my laptop and went to work. An hour or two after I got there, after scurrying around the department making sure that I had back-up transparencies for all of my power point slides, I walked off to class to give my first lecture. In a sense, I was expecting that day to be a sort of birthday-- a real one, where you feel great and notice how much you are capable of. Of course, the whole thing was anti-climactic. I gave a pretty good lecture (there were parts that could have been cleaned up), but on the whole it wasn't really too different than some of the smaller classes that I've taught already. I plugged my computer into the overhead projector, looked up at everyone in the lecture hall, and thought, "oh, hello...it's just you guys..."
But aren't birthdays, of all days, some of the most susceptible to anti-climax?
I'm not sure...
At any rate, tonight I'm finding myself a few hours short of my next birthday, and I feel like I'm more ambivalent about this one than usual.
24 wasn't such a bad year. 24 started when a few of my good friends decorated my desk with balloons, and surprised me with candle-topped cookies later that night. 24 was when I got to see my best friend for two whole months in a row, instead for a weekend every once in a while here and there. 24 was when we danced on bubble wrap before Thanksgiving dinner, making a bunch of popping noises. 24 was when my friends started getting married, and everyone got to see each other all at once for the first time in a few years. 24 was when my mom e-mailed to say that she had faith in me. 24 was when I moved into West LA, and started living on my own for the first time. 24 was when Tawny's baby was born. 24 was when I taught a few damn fine lessons, learned a lot from my students, and made some pretty good ice cream to share with people. 24 was when Andrew would call me "on his break," just to say hello. 24 was when my sister would talk to me about all of her different boys, and sometimes I would laugh so hard that I would be in tears.
But 24 was also the year that, two years after my mom's accident, I would still walk to school every once in a while thinking about how easy it could be to just lose everything that was ever important. 24 was the year that I exchanged more-than-hard words with the only man I ever really loved. 24 was the year that I practically hyperventilated in the car on the way to Barnes & Noble because I was worried that, no matter what books I found there, I would never be able to see into them the way that I thought every other grad student could...
So what's with this celebrating of birthdays? Do I really need to celebrate everything that I've done until now? No, not now. I'll celebrate my birthday when I get to the top of a hill in the middle of a nice run with Band of Horses' "Ghost in My House" blaring in my headphones; and I'll celebrate my birthday when I finish a paper that I'm proud of. I'll celebrate my birthday when I get off the plane and give my friends a big hug. And I'll celebrate my birthday when I look at my brothers and sisters and, realizing their ages, feel my own.
24, I'll keep you-- but pensively...
Yesterday I woke up in the morning, put on a pair of nice jeans and a new suit jacket, grabbed my laptop and went to work. An hour or two after I got there, after scurrying around the department making sure that I had back-up transparencies for all of my power point slides, I walked off to class to give my first lecture. In a sense, I was expecting that day to be a sort of birthday-- a real one, where you feel great and notice how much you are capable of. Of course, the whole thing was anti-climactic. I gave a pretty good lecture (there were parts that could have been cleaned up), but on the whole it wasn't really too different than some of the smaller classes that I've taught already. I plugged my computer into the overhead projector, looked up at everyone in the lecture hall, and thought, "oh, hello...it's just you guys..."
But aren't birthdays, of all days, some of the most susceptible to anti-climax?
I'm not sure...
At any rate, tonight I'm finding myself a few hours short of my next birthday, and I feel like I'm more ambivalent about this one than usual.
24 wasn't such a bad year. 24 started when a few of my good friends decorated my desk with balloons, and surprised me with candle-topped cookies later that night. 24 was when I got to see my best friend for two whole months in a row, instead for a weekend every once in a while here and there. 24 was when we danced on bubble wrap before Thanksgiving dinner, making a bunch of popping noises. 24 was when my friends started getting married, and everyone got to see each other all at once for the first time in a few years. 24 was when my mom e-mailed to say that she had faith in me. 24 was when I moved into West LA, and started living on my own for the first time. 24 was when Tawny's baby was born. 24 was when I taught a few damn fine lessons, learned a lot from my students, and made some pretty good ice cream to share with people. 24 was when Andrew would call me "on his break," just to say hello. 24 was when my sister would talk to me about all of her different boys, and sometimes I would laugh so hard that I would be in tears.
But 24 was also the year that, two years after my mom's accident, I would still walk to school every once in a while thinking about how easy it could be to just lose everything that was ever important. 24 was the year that I exchanged more-than-hard words with the only man I ever really loved. 24 was the year that I practically hyperventilated in the car on the way to Barnes & Noble because I was worried that, no matter what books I found there, I would never be able to see into them the way that I thought every other grad student could...
So what's with this celebrating of birthdays? Do I really need to celebrate everything that I've done until now? No, not now. I'll celebrate my birthday when I get to the top of a hill in the middle of a nice run with Band of Horses' "Ghost in My House" blaring in my headphones; and I'll celebrate my birthday when I finish a paper that I'm proud of. I'll celebrate my birthday when I get off the plane and give my friends a big hug. And I'll celebrate my birthday when I look at my brothers and sisters and, realizing their ages, feel my own.
24, I'll keep you-- but pensively...
2 Comments:
*big hug* i miss you, kat, and all your eloquence with words. i've heard LA is only 3 hrs from here. if i could ever find a free weekend i think i'd drive right on down there.
Awww, Amy! I guess we've both been busy-- too bad I don't have a car, or we could each drive an hour and a half and meet in the middle at the beach some where. Miss you!
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