I consider myself equal part writer, photographer, joker, realist, lover and jaded skeptic. I have less than zero idea if that means I’m an artist. I’m just an Xennial lady who enjoys putting stuff out into the world because creative contribution and collaboration makes me happy.
When my grandmother died, we discovered a drawer full of letters and cards received the last few years of her life. She never mentioned she did this, so it brought a twinge to my heart knowing I have always done the exact same thing. There is just something about the hand-written mark on paper that feels special and permanent in the way a Facebook comment or email never will. Old snail mail feels like a tangible time capsule to rediscover a fleeting emotion long forgotten. Maybe I learned that from her…
There are tons of studies that show social media makes people feel lonely. The constant comparison to others has a nasty way of shining a mirror on that secret doubt in all of us that thinks we’re not good enough. It amplifies that hidden feeling we are squandering the gift of time or somehow not living to our fullest potential.
I’ve had a lot of amazing birthdays in my life. There was the time all my little kid friends went to the movies and saw Annie, the infamous Mr. Days dance party covered in yellow caution tape, and my 30th when I jumped out of a plane, rented a room in a bar with DJ Rocco and Spin played a live rock show. Those birthdays were somehow topped by the insane Russian supper club birthday with a live “show” that Bourdain once said felt like “John Waters made a Broadway musical” (This girl sums that experience up perfectly).
40.
It feels like a lot.
Especially because it seems I’m being tested these days.
As I watch all my slightly older classmates fall like Facebook reminder dominoes, my own approaching milestone is ever present. As a result of this, and my general sentimental nostalgic nature, I’ve peeked back at the last decade of my life in my newly acquired free time…sorta like picking an old half-healed scab.
If I learned anything from Anthony Bourdain, it’s truth in story telling is everything. What you put out there in the world as your words, art, music, or food better be authentically you, or what’s the fucking point? Because he respected honesty in writing and personal character and frequently pontificated on his own idols like Iggy Pop and Paul Bocuse, I’d like to think he’d be ok with the following over the top nonsense written on the blog of an average white lady.