There’s this guy in my head. He is brilliant and capable. He can write, he is witty, and he’s handsome. He’s me, but only so much better…
I am twenty-nine and I’ve just realized that it is the last year of my twenties, and I have yet to do anything. Hence the dramatic picture of myself crying.
It is my fifth month of living in New York after coming fresh off of eight years in Los Angeles. I’m an asshole and also very big boned. I say big boned because no one wants to admit that they’re fat. This is the beginning. The beginning to my crisis, the beginning of me realizing what have I done? Why have I moved to such a pipe dream?
Oh yeah…I want to be a writer, a playwright to be exact.
For most people who approach their thirties they have experienced already a piece of life. They have either gotten married, maybe have a kid or two. They have reached their goal of achieving their dream job or even traveled. Me? I haven’t done any of those things because well the truth is I’m kind of lazy when it comes to adulting.
As much as I want to be an adult, I still want to be a kid.
And before you know it…I’m on the bathroom floor taking selfies of myself crying. So far holding onto my twenties isn’t working so well for me. It was this particular night that I decided that it was time for a change. So to whoever is reading this right now, if you’re in your twenties or forties or whatever…whatever the crisis is, I can promise you that it won’t get better until later. It does get better, but in do time.
Consider this my Eat, Pray, Love moment.
Now, you’re probably wondering why I was crying. And if you guessed that I was a little drunk…you guessed correct. I was exactly three bottles of pinot noir drunk. Did I also mention that I’m going to AA at this point? Yeah, really great start to the introductory of myself. Anyway I was drunk and thinking about things that I shouldn’t have been thinking, but lets be honest. When you’re three bottles in its really hard to think about anything positive.
Unless if I started thinking about Ben & Jerry’s Half baked. That always gets me in a good mood.
I could sit here and write that nothing was bothering me. That I was completely fine and that I was living a perfect life in New York so far. That I wasn’t sleeping on a couch with five other roommates, that I wasn’t working at a coffee shop job that was only paying me three hundred dollars a week. And that every time I tried to adjust to my new life, I’d think about the life that I left behind in Los Angeles.
Good writing is being truthful, and I’d like to think of myself as an honest person. And I’m done lying that nothing is bothering me, when a lot is. Hence why this was the night that I decided to write a book.
A simple book about my twenties and what I’ve learned. So if you’re still reading this reader you’re about to get to know me better. And if you’re not reading, no judgment at all…I’ll just think that you hate me and don’t want to be supportive of my writing. It’s okay, I’ll be peachy keen and move on to the chapter one.
To understand who I was, the type of person I was before. The person that you see in the picture above, we have to go back to the beginning. I know, so dramatic, but its the tone for the book if you haven’t guessed it. I promise to have humor and enlightenment, so you just have to bear with me.
The year was 2009. It was my twentieth birthday and I was moving to los Angeles. Talk about happy birthday to me…