Well! I already have a smile on my face. It’s my last days being this young, very young, twenty-three. The youngest I’ll ever be.
It’s 9-something PM, I think. I’m not even looking at the clock. I just know I’m fresh out of the shower with clean, cold, wet hair down my back. Sitting here in this silky black nightgown that used to be Moriah’s-- that is way too big for me because I don’t have the boobs to fill it out the way she did-- but that still makes me feel sexy every time. Sexy, not in the sense that I’m not seducing someone, but in the sense that I simply feel like a woman, just the way I am. Which is important to me after looking down at my chest a few times this year and contemplating how they’d look with implants.
I stopped by the liquor store before coming home to shower. The first liquor store was closed. I thought maybe it was a sign that I shouldn’t be having a glass of wine while I write tonight. Maybe I should get kombucha instead, being that it sometimes makes me feel tipsy anyways? But no, I looked up a second liquor store that was open, and made an intentional 8-minute drive there to pick up wine. I wanted wine for one main reason: I wanted to keep myself honest as I wrote this. But the second reason was to feel “my age” and “YOLO” to enjoying a glass alone tonight.
I picked up two bottles, Merlot and Cabernet Sauvignon, because I couldn’t remember which one I like better. I found that this was the perfect opportunity to find out which wine I preferred by the time I turn age 24, damn it. So I begin YOLO writing with a 5-oz pour of Merlot. Measured meticulously on a food scale and logged into my FitBit food diary. I guess I can’t escape all my weird ways. And maybe I just don’t want to... I don’t need to.
Recently I’ve been wishing for myself that I’d live a life whose own biography I would want to read. That didn’t mean a successful life (whatever that means) or even a happy life, necessarily. I think it really just means a life pressed in. And all that means, according to Jinnie, is focused. Twenty-three has been the best year of my life. I have been focused. I didn’t go through things that I wanted to go through or would have chosen to go through, but when I did go through them, I went through them with focus. I have been pressed indeed and I want to let the blood of it dry and preserve as these words.
During twenty-three, I started my first corporate job and took all four parts of the CPA exams. Passed one. The most beautiful relationship I’ve ever had the honor of being in came to a swift end. I stood up and chose my faith in times where it meant that I’d lose some things I cherish, namely, Brian. I also let myself be human in the face of faith, and deliberately chose sin and indulgence. I became in the best of shape of my life. I finally pulled the trigger on wanting to learn mixed martial arts. I also pulled the trigger on saying enough to that very first corporate job that I started and screw it to the CPAs too. I used pantiliners every day (how did I ever go without?). I let myself experience myself.
There’s about 1 oz of Merlot left in my glass. I like it.
Now the question is, how to break up this entry?
I’ve always been attracted to older men. Daddy issues or not, it’s just the way it’s been. I surprised myself for being able to fall in love with somebody my age. I was surprised to have looked up to somebody my age, the way I had with Brian. Though I don’t hold that same sentiment towards him now, I was surprised that I ever did-- and very genuinely I did.
I am a hundred times grateful that this relationship ever happened. I am forever thankful to God. I’m thankful I got to find out just what I needed and didn’t need. I think a lot of people say that when coming out of a relationship, but those things are all very private and true. I was really thankful to find out that God had made me a stronger woman than I believed I was. I was astonished to find that that weren’t many tears that I thought were worthy to cry after it all ended. I was astonished to find that I was able to fall asleep, just like a baby, every night. Before our break-up, when I felt it coming, I mostly feared that my post break-up experience would be like that of Joe, my ex in college, who I literally lost my shit over. All. My shit. But this time, wow. I was, and still am, surprised.
I like Merlot better. Carol, on the cusp of 24, realizes that Merlot is the red she prefers. Is it “good” Merlot? I don’t know, and I’m happy that I don’t know the difference.
When we said goodbye to our love at Blaze Pizza, sitting in that back booth, I will never forget the peace and gratitude in my heart. Precisely to God who saw all my tears months prior to the relationship ending. The one to whom I prayed that prayer on a night in October 2017 with my forehead surrendered to a rug-- that I would not be the one to leave this relationship, but if it so is Your will, make him break up with me. And he did. Those words. “A relationship is just not what I need right now.” An immediate warmth in my heart, I looked up at You. And I felt you wink at me, and lovingly hush my heart that would have otherwise skipped a beat. But I remember it. It didn’t even skip a beat. I remember my inner person smiling when Brian said that. I remember nodding my head at him. I remember that this was something worth losing. That I could not, and would not, beg for a human’s love. And that I was finally happy to let him go. This friend that I had gotten to know so intimately for over two years, I was happy to let him go. I wished to see him smile again, the way a friend would want to see a friend laugh and smile. I think that was what really made me want him to break up with me. I knew I wouldn’t do, but I wanted to see him smile.
I drove home that night calling Pastor Julie. “We’re over,” I laughed with a big grin and tear droplets truly as big as marbles rolling off my face. I came home to my mom sitting on the family room couch. I put my bag on the floor, sat close next to her, held her hands and in Korean said “We broke up. I might be sad sometimes, but I am happy. I am happy this happened, but please don’t worry about me when I’m sad.”
I cannot say that today, I look at Brian with the same kind of love in my heart the way I did that night in March when we broke up. I cannot say that I do not resent the way he made me feel utterly foolish a few months later at Monica and Leo’s wedding when, I will not say what, but only that he truly made me feel stepped on. The way friends wouldn’t even make friends feel. However, when I look back at our relationship, I can only feel pure gratitude. When I see videos of us and friends, my heart gets cheerful. And I am thankful that God would protect these memories in such a way that I could still smile about it. To be clear, I would never choose this person again. Not in a million lifetimes. But I am happy to, at one point in my life, have chosen this person.
Dan, one of the most influential people to me this year, from near and far. He is one who I think is truly living a happier life in reality than on social media platforms. I think his instagram doesn’t do his life justice, and that’s rare for our generation. With myself and I think the rest of us, Instagram is the inflated, happier version... and our lives simply don’t match up.
Dan connected me to a guy named James who opened a cafe called Fahrenheit 180 in El Paso, TX. After speaking to James on the phone, who had abandoned his opportunities at Wall Street to open a cafe, I decided I needed to pursue my cafe dream and forget about the CPAs. The CPA was a goal, I was beginning to realize, that I was never meant to achieve.
The day before Dan left for his bike-across-America trip, we met at Stuff Yer Face, where he confessed to me that it did make him quite nervous that I’d made such a decision to quit my CPAs and begin working on my business after I had a conversation with the dude he linked me up with. I’ll recall more of how I arrived to this decision later, but I hope Dan knows that he’s not responsible for my actions.
No one will ever be responsible for my actions. And furthermore, this year I learned that all people, no matter their brilliance or track record, are just people with opinions from their experiences. I’ve talked to so many businesspeople this year about cafes, discussing their big wins and shameful failures. They offer convincing advice. But at the end of the day, it’s my choice to give weight to a person’s message. It’s my choice in how much I’m going to believe them.
Jeff from Kudo Society, said to me, “Be decisive. You can make up for your mistakes later. But more costly than mistakes is not being decisive.” So watching Dan and speaking to James, I have decided to be decisive. I will not be an accountant.
After the breakup, I got to ask this girl, myself, what she wanted to do. She wanted a dog of course. A warm, happy Golden. But more realistically, I wanted to learn Brazilian Jiu Jitsu. Something that I had yearned to practice deep inside ever since Julius and I rolled as kids. I never tried it earlier because of the money. Then I had the money, but not the time. But suddenly I was a working woman and single. I had both the money and time. So there I found myself on Google at work, searching MMA gyms around me.
I visited three: Driven Gym, Diesel, and Fight & Fitness, before I ultimately chose Fight & Fitness. What a perfectly hand picked place from God Him-very-self. Not necessarily for the training style, but for the people. Oh dear God, the people. Thank you God.
I think I ended up liking Muay Thai better than BJJ. I’ve been going to Muay Thai classes twice as often as BJJ. I honestly think that it’s because the punching, kneeing, and kicking is so much more releasing than strategically finding ways to strangle someone. But also, the eye candy is a little better in Muay Thai.
To that point, do I want to date? Hell to the no. I hate to say it because it makes me feel weak when I just said above how I was surprised to find how strong I am. But I think I am pretty scarred from my relationship and from learning about men, in general. I’m not sure that I really ever want to get married, and it doesn’t make me feel sad to think or say that. I’m truly at a place of so much freedom to not need the thought of ending up with a partner to make my life feel complete. My workplace has people cheating on their spouses with one another. Men who are now married, and even with children, are flirting with me and asking me on dates. My close male coworker, who is recently married and also a new father, told me that “Men are as faithful as their options-- including myself.”
I ponder what a sacred thing marriage is. My girlfriend said that over a decade later, her mom still thinks longingly over her ex-husband. “I don’t think you can really get over a failed marriage. Especially someone you have children with.” I wonder if it’s better to abstain from marriage if the divorce rate is so high.
Divorce lawyer and author of If You’re In My Office, It’s Already Too Late, James Sexton, says that Americans do more car research than research on marriage. If he were to tell someone that there’s over a 50% chance that they’ll get hit by a car when they walk across the street, most people wouldn't even take the chance. They’d stay inside. And if they did go to cross the street, they’d at least wear a helmet. His point was that divorce rates are higher than 50% and people don’t even inquire of what they should be prepared for in marriage. They just walk into it hoping that they will beat the odds and won’t get hit with divorce someday, like getting hit by a car. It leaves me wondering if it’s better that I don’t get married at all. And I’m okay with that. I’m satisfied enough-- or scared enough-- to be okay with that.
This is not to say I don’t believe in love. For the people who have found true, vibrating, deep, knowing love-- I celebrate that love. It truly ignites my heart on fire and I cheer always for you. I know it exists. I know that it is possible.
After Brian and I broke up, I heard that someone had told another friend of mine, “I don’t believe in love. If Brian and Carol broke up, there’s no hope for any of us.” But I do. I still believe in love. I still believe in lasting, sacred marriage. It is simply for those who, with all their might, will dedicate themselves to it. I personally don’t know if it’s for me, but I see other people that have it written in their DNAs and whose love I believe in.
Anyways, both Muay Thai and BJJ have been a wonderful sport for me. I remember one night, my head was being squeezed in between someone’s legs and my face was nuzzled in their crotch. We froze in this twisted contortion while our instructor critiqued our position. “Only in MMA would it be totally normal for my face to be held against a stranger’s crotch as someone teaches them how to do it better” I thought. MMA is a weird place for weird people, and I love it.
I heard the guys talking in the men’s locker room, “When it comes being a fighter, you need to have somewhat of an ego. But not in jiu jitsu. All of that goes out the door. You never know what’s gonna happen. Some days you just get fucked up and tossed around. And you just gotta let yourself be humbled.” I don’t know why that stuck with me the way it did when I heard it through the thin walls while changing alone in the girl’s locker room. But I just remember knowing that it was true not only on the mats, but in the fight of life. Sometimes, no matter how much you’ve trained, you will still get humbled by a force from left-field. A force you can’t control, anticipate, or mitigate.
I just finished the 5-oz of Cab. It was definitely Merlot that I enjoyed better. 5 more ounces of Merlot, coming up. This is 360 calories so far, FYI.
Well, soon after I had turned twenty-three, I read the 4-Hour Work Week by Tim Ferris. There’s a concept called “batching” that he teaches on. Basically, the idea is that we can save a whole lot of time if we simply batch tasks together instead of doing them continually throughout the day. We batch our laundry and wait for it to build up to the top of the basket, sometimes overflowing, before actually throwing it in the washing machine. We ought to do that with our e-mails. We ought to do that with a lot of things instead of letting them seem like productive tasks to tackle throughout the day, which actually do the opposite and steal productivity from the very things we wish to accomplish.
After reading about it, I put it to the test. I batched my tasks. I got off of social media. And suddenly, what I had was a whole lot of time. A whole sack of available time just looking me in the eye. All the clocks in the world were slow. All these months and even years, I’d been saying that I was going to get working on my coffee shop once I got the time-- but right now, “I was too busy.” Man. The batching did away with all my bullshit. I saw all that time right before me. And to my utter horror, I was choosing to not work on my cafe. I was paralyzed. Must I now face the very thing that I have said was my dream? Where are my excuses? What if I fail?
So I bought books on coffee shops. I listened to podcasts on business. I made phone calls to entrepreneurs to inquire and learn. I bought a 4” binder to collect all my data. A four-inch binder. I’ve never even bought such a binder for all my years of school. Then I stumbled across Babes in Business NJ, a group of female entrepreneurs who champion each other in their business pursuits. So I said to myself that I’m going to their next event. I’m going to get out of my comfort zone and launch myself in. When I went to this event, I learned about myself through the panel of speakers that I was yet again making excuses that I must acquire enough research before beginning to attempt this business. As if the 4” binder must be packed with paper before I’m qualified to try. The human brain is crazy with its excuses.
So I said I’m not going to let my life be ruled by excuses anymore.
1465 Irving St. Rahway, NJ.
It was the first location that I seriously looked at and considered to become the cafe. It was the beautiful and airy vacant spot across the street from the train station with exposed white brick walls. That location convinced me enough that I would stand with my neon green clipboard on the corner of Irving & East Cherry on a Friday morning to host market surveys with pedestrians. A spot so sparkly that I woke up early in the mornings to drive to it and tally all the foot-bike-and-car traffic from 6 AM to 8:50 AM, leaving me just enough time to get to work by 9. To be hanging around the spot long enough to where two different cops asked me what I was doing. I told one of them that I was looking to open a coffee shop at this site, as I pointed behind me. He gave me a thumbs up and said “Good for you, dear!” and drove on.
I got involved in a small downtown city with new strangers the way I never imagined I could. I went to Chamber of Commerce meetings. I had drinks with locals. I sat with city officials in their office to discuss planning and zoning. I got into the cars of strangers. I collected business cards by the handfuls. I researched with joy and madness. I thought this was it. E-mails and phone calls filled my days and nights.
Whenever there was news about potential competition in the area, I remembered what Karl, my accounting friend from college, said to me. “Good. Competition is good. It leaves no room for complacency.” That was right. I feared no competition. I would do it better. I would always improve and serve people the best coffee that was around.
The guy who owns The Coffee Box in Plainfield, Jeff, also was looking at 1465 Irving St. He knew that there was another person looking at the same spot for the same coffee shop purpose-- which was secretly me. He eventually ended up leasing the spot less than 24 hours before I was scheduled to go to the spot with an architect. We were both racing against time and against one another. I remember a couple weeks earlier, going to his coffee shop incognito to see what kind of place he runs anyways. I was disappointed to find out that he does an intimidatingly excellent job. The day that I visited, I was just an ordinary, unrecognizable, customer. But he was so damn friendly to me that I hated it. I had asked him if The Coffee Box was their only location, to which he responded, “We’re looking at a second spot in Rahway.” It was the spot I was looking at. “Aw best of luck,” I smiled. He did indeed catch that luck.
Though I know it wasn’t luck. It was favor. Not favor on him, but favor on me-- that it didn’t work out for me. There was Jesse, the owner of The Irving Inn, a restaurant next to 1465 Irving. He was 1461 Irving. A charming restaurant. Jesse’s a white man in his early 40’s who I became friends with during this research period. He took me to Restaurant Depot and to other coffee shops like The Coffee Mill. He gave me advice. I used to think “Wow, he must really believe in my dream to give me so much of his time to help me.” Then there was a drive home one day from his restaurant when I said out loud behind the steering wheel, “Don’t be so stupid, Carol. He has other intentions.” He ended up confessing his crush on me and asking me if he can take me out. Although that ended there, he confessed another thing: that it was good that the spot didn’t work out for me. “The rent was much too high, especially for someone like you who doesn’t have coffee experience.” Though it hurt, I knew that he was right. It was time for me to learn coffee. So I went home, took a long shower, and went online to apply to coffee shops.
I have to write about this new friend Christian.
But first, I have to ask. Do you ever wonder how things happen in such a timely manner that you cannot help but believe that someone is handing you the pieces in that particular order? It’s like you were given all the pieces to build an IKEA desk, in its proper sequence, which you would have never known without ever seeing the manual. You cannot say you earned the pieces yourself. You cannot say that you purchased them either. You know that feeling, and you know it can’t just be the universe? It cannot be some vast, unknowable, outerspace energy. Instead, it is all so intentional and loving that you cannot help but believe that it is a God, a person, who loves you, individually. With eyes fixed on you like you are the only person whose life He is concerned about of over the seven billion around you.
So I met Christian at the MMA gym. He joined about two weeks after me back in July. He was immediately friendly to everyone, giving people fist bumps at the beginning of every class. He was already very obviously fit, but new to MMA. I can’t say that I was ever attracted to him, but at the very least, curious. Not romantically curious. Curious about his character. Something about him-- I already knew there was something in me that knew something in him. I just didn’t know what that common something was.
A couple of us at the gym exchanged numbers at the gym last week. When Christian told me his last name was Brown as I saved his number into my phone, I said “Your name sounds like you should be a celebrity or something.” He said, “It’s like one.” I replied, “Oh yeah?” and laughed. “Yeah. Chris Brown.” I really laughed. I laughed a lot. Oh, that’s why he sounds like he should be a celebrity.
At Thursday’s class, Christian and I were stretching on the blue mats. Some anterior hip stretches. I don’t remember how we got to the conversation, but I shared with him how I was hoping to get fired at my job but unfortunately I got promoted instead. So in return, I would be quitting in a month to start working at a coffee shop. His eyes lit up. Yup, there it is. I think I found that common understanding. The thing in me that knew the thing in him. We linked up over coffee and yoga two days later.
So there we were sharing coffee at 9:15 AM on a Sunday. I didn’t know many people who would meet with me on a Sunday morning at 9:15. We were strangers really. The only thing I knew about him was that he was my age, and how his punches to my face feel when we spar in class. Or how his kick feels to my ass. But there we were in early morning window seating at an empty coffee shop, talking about philosophy, love, time, deception, the vanity and sacredness of life, and spirituality. Christian isn’t Christian. But he asked me to share about my Christianity. And I, for the first time in several years, was able to share with a non-believer in complete comfort-- my faith in its full, passionate, flawed, form.
He brought a book for me that he had just finished. Wrapped in a yellow-brown Barnes & Noble plastic bag. It was a tiny book. On The Shortness of Life: Life is Long If You Know How to Use It, by Seneca.
Seneca. Seneca-- the stoic that I listen to Tim Ferris talk about so often. Like Tim Ferris, that batching author.
I held the corner of the book and let the pages quickly flip through my thumb nail. I saw yellow highlights and penciled in comments that Christian had written. That’s exactly what I do with all my books. I wondered if Christian was me in male form. I’m sure many people highlight and write. But I let myself have this moment of knowing the thing in me that knew the thing in him.
“A lot of the things you’re talking about are actually in the book,” he said to me. So I couldn’t wait to get home to read this damn thing. I remember very consciously being happy that I would have something better to read than my Instagram feed.
“And a lot of the ways you are, Tim Ferris is,” I told Christian. He went home and downloaded Tim Ferris’ podcasts.
I think Seneca knew I was an accountant. I think God knew. Or Christian knew. Or something. Because today while reading this passage from his book, I had to take several pauses to remember to breathe and wonder if Seneca, God, and Christian were altogether watching me read. It was confirming everything I had concluded in my journey this year.
“Indeed, you are managing the accounts of the world as scrupulously as you would another person’s, as carefully as your own, as conscientiously as the state’s. You are winning affection in a job in which it is hard to avoid ill-will; but believe me it is better to understand the balance-sheet of one’s own life than of the corn trade. You must recall that vigorous mind of yours, supremely capable of dealing with the greatest responsibilities, from a task which is certainly honourable but scarcely suited to the happy life; and you must consider that all your youthful training in the liberal studies was not directed to this end, that many thousands of measures of corn might safely be entrusted to you. You had promised higher and greater things of yourself.
You must retire to these pursuits which are quieter, safer and more important. Do you think it is the same thing whether you are overseeing the transfer of corn into granaries, unspoilt by the dishonesty and carelessness of the shippers, and taking care that it does not get damp and then ruined through heat, and that it tallies in measure and weight?
Indeed the state of all who are preoccupied is wretched, but the most wretched are those who are toiling not even at their own preoccupations, but must regulate their sleep by another’s, and their walk by another’s pace, and obey orders in those freest of things, loving and hating. If such people want to know how short their lives are, let them reflect how small a portion is their own.
So, when you see a man repeatedly wearing the robe of office, or one whose name is often spoken in the Forum, do not envy him: these things are won at the cost of life.”
I was promoted and praised at my job for my hard work. A percentage of raise that I haven’t heard anybody in my level be given before. Yet, I remember coming back to my desk that day of my promotion, not very happy. In fact, pretty sad. I didn’t tell anybody for a while, not even my family. I felt that I was working so hard at fulfilling a firm’s dreams, not mine. I felt like this promotion meant more responsibility and commitment to a thing which I do not want to do.
When Seneca talks about observing the transfer of corn, I get flashbacks of all the inventory observations I had to perform throughout the year as an auditor; taking note of all the damaged goods in various warehouses and making sure company balance sheets were accurate. But now, I’m auditing my own life. I’m taking inventory of my bookshelf, of all the books I bought and haven’t read because social media damned my soul.
I am given the permission to understand the balance sheet of my own life, instead of the balance sheets of a multi-billion dollar pharmaceutical company filing for IPO. I was tempted many times this year to believe that I couldn’t amount to anything. That I will always be this accounting firm’s bottom bitch. But I am prompted now to remember again that I have been given the ability to execute the things-- any things-- that I affix my determination to. I’ve witnessed it myself. And I know again that it is in me. It has always been in me.
So I am thankful because I know I was meant to read this book, this passage, at the end of this year, today, at this time.
You always end up on that weird place on YouTube. This year, I listened to a psychologist on YouTube talk about the characteristics of narcissists, psychopaths, and sociopaths. That same day, I also randomly watched an interview with Kris Jenner where she unashamedly admitted that her regret in life was divorcing Rob Kardashian. I was fascinated by that. That she could firstly be so open about regretting a divorce with somebody. How refreshing it was to watch somebody have no problem saying that they regret something. The ownership of Kris’ regret is so admirable. It reminded me of how I regret not having been a better friend to Richard before he committed suicide this year and how I never want to not regret it. I was secondly fascinated that Kris’ regret was not over marrying Bruce, a man who would later become trans, but rather that it was for simply losing her marriage with Rob.
I wanted to learn about Rob. What about this man could leave a woman with such riches and success in regret? All I knew about Rob was that he was OJ Simpson’s attorney during his murder trial.
Then from there, I got curious about OJ’s trial. I ended up binge-researching the murder and binge-watching The People vs. OJ Simpson. I saw something in me that I knew in OJ Simpson. Just like I knew there was something in me that I knew in Christian. It was alluring and addictive. My heart sank when I recognized it. It was OJ’s narcissism. I had just learned of all the characteristics of narcissism from that psychologist on YouTube. I sneered at OJ on the television and pointed out how he was such a narcissist in this way and that, but then I realized it was me. It was me. It was me on Instagram, it was me on Facebook, it was me in real life. It was a part of me too.
I can’t imagine myself being able to “balance” social media. I don’t think social media is a battle that humans are fit to defeat. It wasn’t designed for humans to be able to tame it and use it in moderation. It was designed by people who design slot machines for casinos. How am I supposed to win something that was designed to get me addicted? I think that so long as I am on it, I will always be playing with the fire and being burned by it. I think it will forever fuel my narcissism. I hate when I’m posting. I hate that I’m so involved in other people’s daily lives who I would otherwise have no business with. And it is nobody’s business to know what I am eating at any given time, yet because of my narcissism, I think people should know what Carol Sohn is eating, singing, doing, every day.
I have a laundry list of books that I bought but I don’t read because I am pulling this slot machine from the moment I wake up to the moment I go to bed.
I am really not that important. And in another sense, I am so important that I should be feeding myself with books and knowledge instead of feeding on pictures of other people’s lives. I wish for my 24th birthday to gift myself with the severance of social media. I hope I can do it. I have less than 24 hours to say yes to denying myself.
I am learning that to go after the things I really want will mean saying no to things I also do actually want. I really want to respect myself, so I have to say no to hooking up with that hot 38-year old guy that I also want. I really want to open my own coffee shop, so I have to say no to the accounting salary that I also want. The person I am becoming is asking me to sacrifice some things for her. I want to honor this woman.
I remember deciding to quit the pursuit of my CPAs. My mom said that it felt like such a waste of time and money that I had exhausted up until that point if I was just going to give up. I remember thinking that I was just so glad that I’m saving so much time and money by deciding to quit now instead of dedicating more of my life to it. The day of my exam, I didn’t even go. I went to HomeGoods instead. I was in the lamp section as I thought to myself, “Wow, I really don’t give a care about the CPAs. I’m really out here right now looking at lamps and letting a $200 exam fee flutter away. I am really happy.” It was a declaration to myself. A $200 memorial.
Tomorrow is my birthday. For the past several birthdays since I was 19, I had best friends or a significant other planning an extravagant party. This is the first birthday in a while that I don’t really have anything. I’m camping out in my own home in solitude these last few days leading up to my birthday. My own birthday slumber party if you will. The only thing I have planned is to go to orientation at the coffee shop I will soon be working at full-time. At first when I was told that orientation would be on my birthday, I thought, “Do I really want to be at orientation on my birthday? Should I ask them to reschedule it for a different date?” And then I realized, “I would love to do just that on my birthday. There’s no better way I want to spend it.” So tomorrow, from 5-7 PM, I will be at a work orientation to become a barista. It is a declaration to myself that this year, I am doing what I dreamed. No excuses.
I do not have to be anybody but myself. This past year, I confused myself because I didn’t know if I was feminine, masculine, uptight, relaxed, religious, rebellious, milennial, or old. I am realizing that I am all of this. Some people bring certain sides out of me that other people don’t. I thought I was a phony but I’m not. I’m simply all of this at different times. And it is better to live my own life authentically and imperfectly than to perfectly imitate another’s. There has never been and never will be anybody made exactly like me and it would be a shame to force this life to conform to some other person’s life for the sake of familiarity. I cannot be replicated, and nor can anybody else.
When I finally quit this month and go from that hunky salary to making $8.65 an hour, I will remember what Sue said. “You’re going back to school. People go back to school to learn what they really want and they take out student loans to do it. You’re going back to school, and you’re actually getting paid $8.65 an hour.” Going to work is like going to school. My homework is working on the business and learning to love God, myself, and people.
Jinnie Rhee said this twice to me this year. I think she said it a second time because she forgot that she already said it once before. I’m pretty forgetful, but I know she said this twice because it alarmed me the first time, let alone the second. She said, “I don’t think you realize this, but you’re really really hard on yourself. The way nobody else is.” This was true when I thought about it. This year, I don’t want to be so hard on myself. The inevitable fluctuations in weight, money, faith, and all. Don’t be so hard.
Lastly, as Pastor Julie looked me in the eye and said, “Carol, you don’t need to explain yourself-- not to me, not to anyone.”
This post took me two days and two bottles of wine to write. This year was made so successful, in my eyes, because of a common thread-- people. I am thankful to everyone for sharing their time, a thing no one can ever get back, with me. I thank you, I celebrate you, and I celebrate me.
