Los Angeles, cautionary tale edition.
I turn 39 in a few days. There’s a freedom associated with turning forty, but this slice of a year before that looming milestone feels heavy with expectation. What I didn’t accomplish is a theme that I’m trying to make good on, with loose-end removal at the top of an already unwieldy to do list. There’s a failure mode I’m rigged for; I constantly feel like a venture capitalist’s investment: not as good as my most recent win (because that’s already past the moment it’s happened), but measured by the next great weighted possibility. Valuation as value.
I’ll tell you a secret, then: Advancing age doesn’t assure self-realization or enlightenment, even when it forces self-awareness. And there’s no step function here as you cross decades, and much like being a parent, it’s manual-free (although some books and other writing come close). That makes me part cautionary tale and part work-in-progress. But maybe, what has been hard earned, little bits of revelations after repeated falls and their bruises, can pass to you simply, kindly. At the very least, they’ll sit here as a reminder to me.
1. Your body is completely normal just like it is. It’s hard to believe this, given Instagram and the porn you’re streaming, but filters only exist in photography. Real life has cellulite and gray hair, fine lines and some extra weight around the middle. Spines curve, heels need sloughing, pubic hair grows, and everyone has acne or freckles or sunspots. Your scars are precious. They tell more interesting stories than hermetically sealed selfies. You’re important because of them. That said, maybe you want to change things up. You’re thinking of surgeons, conflating permanent physical change with reinvention. That’s OK, but do you a favor. Give it six months. In that time, get a haircut. See a dentist. Wax. Start jogging. Go blonde. Or brunette. Or purple. Get (a little) Botox. Buy some better fitting pants. Or bra. Read six books. Volunteer. Change your job. Learn a new skill. Sing to strangers. Move. Dump the asshole telling you you’re anything but a beautiful, exciting creature. And after that, if you still want to change your nose/breasts/labia/hairline, then do extensive research, get third and fourth opinions, confirm the safety with your GP, and for fuckssake, don’t be cheap.
2. Give money and apologies freely, without expectation of return.
3. The first rule of negotiation is to know the wants and needs of the other party as well as you know your own. This is useful in business, friendship, and romance.
4. Eat vegetables and/or fruit at every meal. Less meat. Wear sunscreen. Wash your face and brush your teeth before you go to bed, even when you’re wasted. Get your teeth cleaned twice a year and an annual physical. Drink three more glasses of water every day than you do now.
5. Read books, listen to music, and see the world. This is education.
6. Question the judgments that pop in your head. You won’t stop judging, but when they arise, ask yourself why you feel the need to scrunch your face up and say shitty things about someone else. It’s almost always because you’re observing behavior that you participate in and wish to eliminate, or vice versa. Use it as a mirror.
8. Everything is a choice. Rewrite every “I can’t” with “I don’t want to” and watch your power return and your bullshit leave.
10. Don’t be afraid to surround yourself with people that are smarter than you. Cultivate friendships with people that give and take in equal measure. That will help hold your mess until it’s time to break out the shovels, and with gentle, constructive concern, get to digging you out of it. Do the same for them.
11. Sexuality and gender are fluid. We are what we are, when we are. You are perfect in your identity, so hang in there if you’re not yet in a safe place to live outwardly authentically. I promise, you’ll find good people in your tribe who will open their arms and hearts to you, and until then, reach out to kind strangers. We’re here for you.
12. Everything in moderation: The cigarettes, the benzos, the booze, the yoga, the cleanses, the wanderlust, the seriousness, the glib, the coke, the Cheetos, the therapy, the indoors, the outdoors, the smoothies, the flirting, the sex, the pizza, the kale, the anger, the crushes, the makeup, the breakdown. This life is nothing if not rich and nuanced. Too much of any one thing - including your reporting of it - makes you a dull asshole.
13. What is good and what is familiar are two very, very different things. Learn the difference.
14. You are Whitman poem with Vonnegut humor and a Bradbury fantasy, Miller sex and Carver longing. Multidimensional and mercurial. So is everyone else. Because of this, there will never be “one” person for you. That myth will kill you, robbing you of new tastes and touches and sounds along the way. Don’t hold your partner to unattainable, unfair expectations that are flimsy fronts for your own work or loneliness. Don’t give up your friends and confidants. Say things frankly and without fear. Ask kindly for what you need and want. Listen to the same. There aren’t rules for relationships besides the ones you write and keep together; build something unique. Marriage and monogamy and kids and mortgages aren’t the only way through these woods. And when you change, and you will, talk about it. You’re going to have crushes, fall in and out of love with people that aren’t your partner, have great ideas and terrible ones. It’s only when it gets actionable and outside your agreed upon code of conduct that it’s a problem. Share your concerns early and openly. Process with an open mind. And if it’s really time to move on, see growth instead of failure. (And yeah, in all but a few cases, biology and neurochemistry will reveal and render that grass on the other side of the fence the same goddamn shade.)
15. Yes, you’re spending too much time on social media.
16. No one is keeping track of your flaws like you. They’re all too busy keeping track of their own.
17. Pay attention to the present, future, and past in the same ratio you handle a car. For the most part, stay in the moment. Every so often, look ahead to see what’s coming and in the rear view so that what’s behind doesn’t sneak back up on you.
18. You’re hurting yourself as much as you’re hurting others with that slut shaming. Knock that shit off immediately. Sex is a great, wonderful thing, but don’t be so one note about it. Intimacy comes in many forms between consenting adults. A healthy (not to mention fun as fuck) sex life incorporates that rich variety.
19. Work hard. Put on your comfortable shoes and the pants you don’t mind getting dirty, and fucking hustle. It might not be the thing you love, but stop seeing dead-ends. Trust me, you can spin pretty much anything. Ask your bosses for more and different responsibilities. Think strategically. If you want to jump to something that “moves” you, start it as a nights-and-weekends side piece until it has legs of its own. In 90% of situations, work experience is going to trump education. I know you’re scared, but the only thing that separates you from the next big thing is how many hours you’re willing to put into it. Four more years are going to pass, whether or not you dig into this. Dig into this. You’ve got it.
20. It’s OK that you have a mental illness. I promise. I have one, too. I know it makes basic living difficult. It’s a swirling tar pit of anxiously sad demons with pitchforks of self-doubt. It’s an unwelcome houseguest that somehow got itself on the fucking lease. But you have some control, and the first step is therapy. It will be your lifeline from drowning and self-destructing. Therapy, a mental health care routine, maybe meds if it comes to that. Stay vigilant. Don’t live all over your loved ones. You’re allowed to ask for space, for help, for a hug, but you’re not allowed to be a dick to your partner, your kids, your friends, your colleagues. Keep your shit together. And never, ever, EVER give up. I know you’re tired. Exhausted, even, wondering about the point of a life like this. I’ll tell you, but first: Look out your window and see the world spinning in this universe. There is concrete and plants, and everything is living and dying at once in a song that came before and will go on until the universe exhales. Hear your neurons fire and your muscles flex. Touch your mouth and feel your breath and know it’s carrying oxygen to cells, cells conspiring to keep you alive so your beauty is screamed from mountaintops and valleys; your novel is in process, this compilation of short stories that need to be read and passed to generations. And do you see, now, my friend? Do you see the point? That you are here and that is cosmic wonder, and that your life is to both participate and bear witness? Because when you’re gone, your dust will join the song, and the strength of your contribution to harmony and melody and dissonance are proportionate to your participation. Sing loud and long. You are loved.
