baggage's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- at 33 you'd think I'd know better For about 45 minutes this past Monday, my birthday, girl unit and I sat down on a grassy spot in Laguna Beach and talked about insignificant things-like the sway of the Palm trees next to us, the threatening swoops of the pigeons passing overhead and the surprising and welcome appearance of the sun after a morning dominated by clouds fat with gray and moisture. It was, by all accounts, one of those moments that I hope comes back to haunt me sometime in the future when I, yet again, am wallowing in some self-poured pool of depression. Turning 33 is a good thing. I do feel older. And, sometimes, the fact that I'm physically New York to the Los Angeles that is my youth sticks like a thorn in the side. But, for the most part, the early years of my middle age have been more than fair. I have an annoying habit of judging the past years of my life by my so-called accomplishments. When I turned 27, my ego revolved around the purchase of a little two-bedroom, one bath house. At the time, few of my friends had purchased houses-and I, after some minor repairs to my credit history, passed all the tests leading to home ownership with ease. For the first time in my life, I owned the grass being mowed, the weeds being pulled, the floor being swept. When I turned 29, my pride bubbled over at the thought of my most recent promotion. I was making more than enough money to cover my bills and had plenty left over for play. Some of my friends (actually-a lot of them) made more money. But, I had little debt and a small house purchased when the market was at rock-bottom. My life revolved around disposable income. The crowning achievement for my 31st year was the job I hold now. By some crazy turn of events, and more than a healthy dose of luck, my graphics found their way into the right hands with no effort on my part. I distinctly remember standing inside a Los Angeles coffee shop one afternoon and staring at three different papers-all competent-all world-class-and all offering me employment. It was a great feeling. I was simultaneously proud and humbled. I knew I was lucky-but still, I felt proud to have so many promising professional avenues open to me. Mine is a skewed view of the world. My glasses are so tinted with the red tint of roses that my ego had somehow linked happiness and emotional growth with professional and financial achievements. And meanwhile, I was collecting emotional baggage at every turn. I let a few close friends fade away over petty disappointments, and found myself replacing my once precious circle of comrades with new faces-faces that weren't encumbered with baggage from the past. But, everything does catch up eventually. Some from the original circle are back in in my life. J, who disappeared from my radar and hid a few states away for close to 10 years, is now a mere hour drive west on the I-10. Last night, Sean's familiar voice stirred up all sorts of memories-both good and bad, and, in the course of our 48-minute conversation, I was reminded of all the reasons why we had become friends in the first place. And, tonight, I spent some time in my cubicle immersed in a conversation with someone I should have called a long time ago; a person that I let go for all the wrong reasons-who, luckily for me, forgives as well as forgets. He's going to be a father in November, and I happened to swallow my pride exactly one night after him and his wife got the news. The phone is a wonderful tool if you're not too proud to use it. There are still a few others that I need to unpack and let go. I hope to get to them someday as well. Maybe, before I'm 34. 10:15 p.m. - 2001-04-03 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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