20 Signs

Death has always felt oddly close to me. I’ve been mildly obsessed with it at points, though I’m trying to set up some boundaries. But every so often, as seasons change and days bleed together, my awareness is heightened to whatever it is we’re all walking toward.

It used to bother me. It used to consume me in ways that made getting out of bed hard to cope with. I wanted a cocoon and people I loved, and maybe some gin, to stay cornered off in a small closet reserved for things that would never die. I wanted to pulse with life on a level that others had failed to reach, that wasn’t actually intended for living beings. The understanding that this was impossible would become too intense to stand face to face with, so I’d stay in bed instead. I learned a lot during those hours of self-coddling and failed comprehension. Mainly, I learned that it’s okay to be at odds with death.

Basically, the only thing we inherently know how to do is exist with one another. We can connect with the progression of existence, encapsulating ourselves with the process that we’ve never been detached from. Death, on the other hand, isn’t something we’ve familiarized ourselves with, so there’s no way to cognitively come to grips with its being. The only thing we can tangibly grasp of death is that it’s presence means the lack of something greater. If we let the threat of that lack take root, we’re more apt to concern ourselves with what’s alive, letting the aftermath rest on its own without extensive observation.

Death is the recurring narrative, and when we become awake to this reality, we’re able to live with awareness and openness—not necessarily fighting the process, but embracing the moments that will pull us apart from life. We can’t fully tune ourselves into life until we understand the gravity of what comes next, of what might be lost if we allow for wasted time. Though we can’t prime ourselves on death’s fundamentals, we can learn to use it to our advantage. Its mystery teaches us the reality of life—it’s meant to be spent alive and used proactively while it’s still available. The only power we have over death is to prevent its happening too soon, namely on a metaphysical level.

Strangely, death brings us together in its morbid ways. We share death. It’s the one element of life that we all, regardless of orientation, race, religion, shoe style, etc., share and anticipate collectively. We can’t evade it. Even birth can be prevented, yet death is insufferably untouchable. And maybe that’s what helps me cope with the insecurity that one day I won’t wake up. It’s the only thing that bridges me with every other human, and in that, it’s the most human experience I will ever be a part of. Death, though not conventionally beautiful or alluring, puts me on the same plane as all the people surrounding me. I guess there’s a counter-intuitive comfort in knowing that the one thing that will physically separate us is what holds us all together, too. For whatever reason, that helps me sleep at night…and get out of bed the following morning.

1. Being the Holidays, Hershey’s Christmas Hugs are now available for $2.49 at Target. I plan on eating them until I get sick. I can’t focus when I’m sick. 

2. My friend wanted to hang out last night at 11pm. It seemed urgent. It wasn’t, but still…

3. I chose a topic that doesn’t really make sense but had enough sources for the annotated bibliography, so now I have references, but no content. 

4. I’m not who my professor thinks I am. 

5. Every time I sit down to write it, nothing comes to me. I’m banking on revelations to abound 20 minutes prior to when the paper’s due. 

6. I’m bored. 

7. I’m busy picking off my nail polish. 

8. I have about 20 games of Hanging/Words With Friends going right now. I’m swamped.  

9. ”Millionaire Matchmaker: Reunion Special, Part 2” is on tonight. Supposedly someone’s proposing to someone else on the show and Patti looks really shocked in the commercials and none of it matters, I just don’t want to write this paper. 

10. I’m throwing away all my candy wrappers. 

There’s this semi-new thing happening in our society in which we all have to “be something.” I remember, as a little girl, thinking about how one day I’d grow up to be a college student, then a wife who left her degree behind to give birth and concern herself with folding t-shirts and making chicken stir-fry. Now, I still believe all those things will transpire in my life, only there’s the addition of a successful career and meaningful hobbies… and flawless looks, because supposedly none of it matters unless you’re perfect at all things technical while looking effortlessly beautiful. It’s gotten to be a bit much.

Before I bash the evolution of the idealized person, I should clarify I strive for overall excellence. I want to be a respectable writer who is also talented at sewing and baking and manages to maintain the same hairstyle for more than 36 hours at a time. I want to see my dreams realized and have something tangible to catalog my life with. The only real issue is that I want these things on my terms, not just because some social construct insisted this be the way to live. I can manage impressive displays of success on my own; I don’t need someone else to create a preset list of expectations for me.

I could sit here and list all of the celebrities and well-to-do people I believe have influenced this perceptible shift, but that would be unfair. Bottom line, schools are better than they used to be, jobs are harder to come by with just a mere Bachelor’s, and people are learning that art is transcendent of the canvass and/or Gibson. We’ve come a long way as a society, which I’m proud of. We have so much to show for our efforts and I think people are more well-rounded than they may have been in the past, given to our felt need to become cultured in just about everything. Unfortunately, there’s an added weight to these personal goals. It’s no longer an accomplishment to be perfect—it’s a standard. And if you fall short of that standard, someone will let you know—even if it’s in the form of a simple Facebook status passing as white noise while you watch your more expressively talented friends excel to unheard of levels of achievement and coinciding accolades, receiving egregious amounts of “Likes” when they post about being tired. But social networking is a whole other discussion…

I don’t want an idle society in which no one values the process of self-growth and success. But I also don’t want a society where the minute, unimportant failures of the every man are regarded as loathsome and unacceptable. If you’re talented in multiple capacities and have legs for days and met with Ryan Gosling last week for lunch, I support you and am honored to call you my peer. On the same token, if you like reading Salinger after putting your child to bed and waiting for your husband to come home from his 9-5, and that’s enough for you, then I support that, too. It’s not about the amount of awards and pieces of paper with our names on it that make life worth living—it’s all the tiny nuances of who we are that make us happy and content and excited to wake up every morning. I’d rather feel successful internally than constantly strive for external praise that won’t sustain me for long.

Basically, whatever path you choose, whether it be extravagant or low-key, walk it with dignity and self-assurance. “Being something” is a mindset, not an obligation. 

You’d always hear about the weather. The weather and celebrities and films being made in the same shops residents drank coffee. When I moved to Los Angeles the skyline affected me. The wall of hills behind my studio rose up out of the dawn during long drives out to Santa Monica and the beach lapped against stones in the Pacific, revealing dark seafloors and passageways to continents that felt in reach. It was as if all other landscapes derived their sense of beauty from this one location, only mimicking what had already been. I hadn’t envisioned the literal infatuation that Los Angeles ignited in me. It hurt to love a city that much—hoping for things to “work out” and lengthily last. My heart would quickly tick inside me as if it might soon be broken, thrown out by a finicky sprawl of smog and self-esteem. But also, I rested there. I discovered the world in the containment of steel buildings and shifty apartment complexes that directed me to exotic restaurants and homes of friends I’d read about in magazines in the coming years. And when I return, there’s a thread that if gently pulled will unleash the remnant wailing of a girl who misses something so profoundly that the prospect of its very being crystalizes all that hurts on this earth. 

It’s misty here, with humidity that stretches over every texture, wrapping lightly around fingers and toes and reaching up into the sky to meet itself again. The dampness makes me more aware - aware of my surroundings, of existence, of intentionality. Every movement is so palpable under the weight of the air, allowing for each step to be noticed and ingested, felt. I’ve needed to be covered in the heaviness of life. Of muscle and sinew, mind and emotion. I’ve needed to be cradled by the air for the consciousness that I’m a body, a soul with the ability to crave, just as the air longs for a place to fill the gaps and smooth over the rough edges.

Over the past year I’ve been to a decent amount of weddings. My sister and I have begun noticing a pattern in the various guests who are sure to become pseudo-friends and definite non-freinds over the course of the 4-5 hour wedding situation. These are those people.  

1. The Not Totally Unfunny Girl: This girl is a party classic amongst the unmarried, dateless girls. She’s funny enough, without being funnier than you. Having come alone, she can use your social sympathy and will humor any random quip about how your face is melting off or whether or not taking three slices of cake was rude. Throughout the night, she’ll devotedly make eye contact and laugh at whatever you say, never overshadowing your humor because she really makes a point of letting you know you’re the funny one here. Meaningful conversation will most likely never be breached. It’s best to stick with a recurring reference to something awkward you were able to make an inside joke out of earlier in the day. If you ever see her again, she will have made no noticeable changes in her personality, career, looks, or relation to you.

2. The Old Friend Who Was a 6 on the “Friend Scale” 3 Years Ago: This wedding-goer is seemingly approachable, but will somehow leave you feeling awkward and unsure of yourself throughout the night. Conversation will get surprisingly difficult and you’ll find yourself repeating facts of your life he/she already knew but will make exception for because there’s nothing else to talk about, really. You’ll wonder what went wrong and why it was so easy for you to stop caring about his/her fantasy trip to Madrid that you used to think would be “really, so great for you!” Unwillingly, you’ll end up at the open bar more than once together and each time you’ll feel less obligated to acknowledge each other even mildly. In four months you’ll run into each other at Target and comment on how good it is to see one another again, then one of you will say, “…Yeah, well, I gotta get back. But really, let’s get together this week. Seriously this time. I’ll text you tomorrow, promise!” You’ll probably never see this person again.

3. The Pity Party: This girl dated the groom about seven years ago but managed to remain platonic friends with him. She’s honestly moved on, and probably even seeing someone who isn’t at the wedding, but the opportunity arose to elicit pity from others, so now she’s totally heartbroken that her first love got away, and “is the bride’s dress, like, supposed to be doing that thing in the back…?” She’ll sit at your table and struggle to unfold her napkin with exaggerated exasperation, as if every detail of the wedding is poorly planned and obtrusive. During light dinner talk, she’ll say something about the mother of the groom, like, “Weird… I can’t believe she wore heels today. She hates heels. She used to always talk to me about how they’re so uncomfortable. Sorry, that’s just so weird.” Towards the end of the night she’ll suddenly have gotten drunk and will set out to kiss the best man as erratic payback then accidentally pass out by the guestbook, and everything will be cool again.

4. The Token Bachelor: No one came to the wedding with higher expectations than this guy. He’s the third groomsmen to the right and will probably read a verse from the Bible then make a joke, squeezing his way into the hearts of the elders and the proverbial pants of the youngers. When the DJ starts playing music, he’ll be the first one on the floor; but once more than seven people start dancing, he’ll act as if it’s lame and go back to sensually sipping his eighth drink of the night. The barely legal cousin of the bride will be his first target, but she’ll quickly become too willing and the older girls will step in to make a point about being the older girls, or something, leading to unflattering acts of flirtation. At some point during the reception he’ll make one or two passes at you, but it’ll be arcane and deceiving, and your friends will have to tell you what just happened. By the end of the night, he’ll be sitting alone with a leggy blonde in the corner. His face will be somber and focused—concentrating on some story the girl is sharing while consoling her by provocatively rubbing her lower thigh. It’s mandatory no one ask him what he’s doing later in the night. Don’t even say goodbye. That would totes throw off his game, bro. He’ll show up at the post-wedding lunch alone and won’t talk to anyone of the opposite sex. He’s done his part. Respect his game and move on.

5. The Feminist: She just doesn’t get what the hell is going on here.

6. The Guy You Recognize from Another Wedding, so at Least You Have That to Talk About: This guy was at another wedding you recently went to and you realized he was that mutual friend everyone was always talking about who didn’t completely suck. He’s sure to make a point early on in the ceremony that “I’m gonna get so drunk tonight it’s not even funny. Ha ha! You know what I mean?!” And you do know and sincerely want that for him, but only because it’ll make him funnier and less likely to attempt delving into a deep conversation during the father-daughter dance. Similarly to #1, he’ll give you all the credit for being the awesome one at the table and will fall all over himself to make you feel funny. He demands dry wit and sarcasm and if you have any grievances throughout the night, he wants to hear them so he can agree with you. You’ll probably develop a mutual disdain for that one girl who tries to act like her pretty friend or reflect on the last wedding, in which you shared a childish admiration of that endearing, unattractive brother of the bride who just loved his sister so heartwarmingly much. This guy is a safe bet and by the end of the night you’ll feel like you’ve been BFF for ages. But don’t forget you know nothing about him. And please, don’t try to know anything about him because then your jokes won’t be as funny and you’ll realize he’s actually an alcoholic who you’re enabling. Like the bachelor, he’ll show up at lunch the next day and you’ll anticipate joking around, but he’ll have a headache and won’t get what you mean about “You know, that one girl! With the crazy eyes..!” He, like the rest of them, was never your friend to keep, so just let it go.

(note: if you fall into any of these categories, you help make a wedding the semi-awkward social event it deserves to be. Thanks for what you do.)