[I read this and decided that I wanted to figure out what being young means]
To be young is to mess up. A lot. It’s an unavoidable part of your existence, and it only gets more pronounced as you grow older. If you’re smart, you’ll learn things from the failed relationships, the hangovers, the unemployment, the debt, and the confusion. You’ll learn about yourself, the way you react to change, and you’ll learn to pick yourself up off of the ground, dust yourself off, and jump out towards new opportunities and new mistakes. You’ll never be perfect, but you will be better.
To be young is to feel unmoored. You’re on your own, floating in your twenties, hunting for a purpose or a mate or a job. You will feel alone. There’s no guidebook on how to get through it. If you can’t throw an anchor down, at least tether yourself to other boats. Find communities of supportive people that make you want to be better. Stick with your friends; they will help you weather the storm (spoiler alert: they feel the same way you do). You’re without a schedule for the first time in your life. Appreciate it, and use the time to figure out who you want to be in 2 days, in 2 months, and in 2 years. Start doing things that get you closer to being the person you want to be.
To be young is to regret. You’ll wish you had taken the other fork in the road, or handled a situation differently, or said something instead of staying silent. Regret is going to be part of your life. Take a deep breath and realize that there’s only one direction from here, and it ain’t backwards. Learn something from your regrets and move on.
To be young is to be selfish, and unkind, and just plain mean to each other sometimes. We’re hard-wired to compete and to survive. That brings out the animal in us, and we’ll lash out at others as a defense mechanism. We’ll all say things we wish we hadn’t, and then we’ll have to apologize and hope that we haven’t caused irreparable damage to a relationship, be it personal or professional or both. You have to learn to let the tiger out of the cage only at the right time.
To be young is to take everything and nothing for granted. It’s easy to move through life quickly, to never stop to smell the roses or appreciate a sunset from a cabin up north. It’s easy to push off a phone call with your parents, or a chance to catch up with an old friend over a beer, because we think there’s time for that later. We’re young, and we have all the time in the world. But growing up these days we are out on our own for the first time, often without a fulfilling job, mounds of debt, and no safety net or schedule to save us. We learn to appreciate happy hour 2-for-1s our group of friends that much more because of it.
To be young is to do stupid things. How many of us have stayed up too late watching Netflix because you just need to know what happens on the next episode of Breaking Bad? How many of us go out drinking or to bar trivia or to a comedy club on a Monday or Thursday, even though work tomorrow is going to suck because of it? How many of us have spent too much money on shit you don’t need, at a bar or at Target or online? I’m guilty of all of that, and I assume you are too. Your twenties are good for that kind of stupid, forgiving exploration. Once you anchor yourself down with a wife or a mortgage or a few youngsters, everything is less forgiving. Use this time wisely, for it is a gift that dwindles away as you become less young.
To be young is to endure confusion, pleasure, invulnerability, vulnerability, fear, excitement, love, and regret all together. It’s feeling wise but knowing you are dumb, feeling old but knowing you’re young, and feeling like a failure yet learning to win. It’s a moving contradiction and a truth we all subconsciously know: “We are scared and tired and often bored, but we’ll get through it, and you can’t wait to see what we can do.”
To be young is wonderful and awful at the same time. Enjoy it while you can.
I was in Jackson, Mississippi over the weekend for work. I went to a crawdad boil with friends of a friend. After a few beers and a few hours of laughing with these people I’ve never met before, I had a thought:
There is so much fun to be had in odd places with new people. We forget that. We go through our lives doing the same thing, seeing the same people, and going to the same bars even though there’s so much out there. So, so much.
You’re never too old or young to take giant leaps of faith, but your twenties are designed for it. We graduated college, and may have jobs or leases or significant others, but that’s it. Many of us are unmoored, untethered to a particular place or person or position. That drifting feeling is obviously a little disorienting and can be confusing, but it’s a positive thing too. It’s a chance for a course correction. It’s time to explore. We’re lucky because we have all this time in the great divide between who we are and who we will be. There is no better age to try new things, to travel, to screw up, to change and move and run from routine. It’s a gamble worth taking.
Complacency is simple. “Just happy enough” is a plague-ridden safety blanket we cling to for fear of something worse. We need to keep jumping at new experiences and putting ourselves out there to fail because that enemy known as “routine” is always nipping at our heels. Routine is the voice in the back of your head saying “you might fail” and “but you don’t have any idea what will happen next.” It’s telling you that “it’s gonna be awkward” and “it’ll never work out.”
You’ll feel lost sometimes. You’ll feel alone and disoriented and maybe a little afraid. That’s OK. There’s a whole world out there waiting to be explored. There’s an intriguing weirdness about this country we live in and the people that exist in these new places. There’s a lot to learn from these people, and we could all benefit from seeing a little bit of that Weird America firsthand. It’s good to feel out of place, out of your element, without a safety net. That’s how you grow.
New is your ally. Different is your partner-in-crime. Strange is your bedfellow. We need to start telling ourselves to fail. To be unsure. To put yourself out there. Feel fear. Get dirty. Fuck up. Change gears. Move forward.
Maybe all it takes is a Mississippi Crawdad Boil with two strangers you’ll probably never see again to jolt you awake. Maybe, just maybe, that’s a life-altering moment waiting to happen. You never know until you give it a shot.
I turned 24 on Sunday.
A 24th birthday is a seemingly insignificant blip. It’s a milestone not worth remembering, another random point in my individual timeline. The pivot-point birthdays, the ones that open up new possibilities and endless opportunity just by proxy of my age (16, 18, 21) are behind me.
But, given that it’s a nice time to stop and reflect on the past 8,760 days, here are a few things I’ve learned on this crazy adventure we call life:
You’re never as old as you feel and you’ll never be this young again.
You will miss an endless amount of opportunities. You will always feel like you missed some turning point in your life, and you will always be haunted by the road not taken, the girl you never talked to, the job you never accepted. You will feel regret. The more time you spend going down that imaginary road, the more time you’re wasting. Spend your time focusing on the opportunities you caught and what you’re doing with them. This is your life. Right now. It’s all you have, so you might as well enjoy it. There are very few pains worth holding onto, and regret isn’t one of them.
Own your vices, but get rid of your demons: Everyone needs something to hold onto. Some people (like me) find solace in pop culture, some (also like me) find it in food and drink, some find it in religion. We all have vices; some are good, some are evil, some are both, some are neither. The moment you let any of these things take over your life, you might need to reconsider your connection to them. Very few people are strong enough to do this on their own.
There’s a healthy balance between outside influence and intuition. A lot of people will feel like giving you advice (I’m doing it right now, and I’ve done it before), and you will be tempted to listen. They will say that they know what’s best for you, and they have more experience than you, and that they’re right. They will poke and prod and nudge you in directions you don’t want to go. These people will try to drown out the little voice in your head, the one that tells you yes or no or stop or go. Don’t let anyone muffle your inner voice.
You will feel awkward sometimes. Remnants of that insecure teenage version of you will stick around and taunt you. That’s normal. Everyone goes through the same basic experiences you do: the thrill of a first kiss, the heartbreak of a first love lost, the explosion of hormones, the general gawkiness. The best you can hope for is that you take the good things about your early years (the hope, the excitement, the child-like wonder, the openness to connection) with you and leave most of the other junk behind.
You will never be perfect at anything, but that shouldn’t stop you from trying.
It is never okay to stop learning. School’s over, and you’ll probably never go back. It’s up to you to read books, to devour culture, to jump into new situations head-first. Hopefully you’ll learn from your successes and your failures. Hopefully you’ll learn from others. The only thing you can do is try to learn how to be a better person.
Friends will arrive, friends will disappear. Meeting friends and potential love interests only gets harder, more forced, and more awkward as time goes on. You’ll like people you work with, and maybe you’ll like your neighbors, and maybe you’ll like your girlfriend’s friends, but you’ll never have an experience like high school or college again. Those friends will understand you better than most people, but they’ll be taken by new cities and new people and some of them will fade away. Try to maintain your connections; it’s pretty easy these days. You don’t have a lot of excuses to let those connections die out.
There are a lot of shiny things in this world. There are distractions everywhere. The hardest thing in this world of so much noise, so much bullshit, and so many different things warring for your attention is to find something real to concentrate on. Try to devote your time to whatever makes you nuts with passion, whatever burn inside you, the things you feel with every piece of your being. Nobody else can tell you what those are. Figure out how to enjoy silence and things that happen in nature.
Here’s to another 24 years.
[Art courtesy of Lauren Krukowski. Click the pic for more]
If there’s one thing you should remember about heading to a college bar after you’re a graduate, it’s this: you never come out of it thinking that it was a great idea. This was especially true of O’Grady’s, a bar notorious for its dark interior and its strong drinks. O’Grady’s gave out Dum-Dum suckers to help quell the sting of rail vodka. As far as student bars go, it was a pretty great place to acquire a blackout. Somewhere in the swirl of the night, we expected to find solace.
On any given weekend night, I could spot 6 or 7 coworkers at the bar; O’Grady’s is never the kind of place you want your colleagues to see you, but there we all were, hoping the other wouldn’t remember an awkward encounter the next morning.
The bar was near and it didn’t have a line (a rarity after midnight), so we went in. O’Grady’s was full of a student populace we were no longer a part of: underagers, drunken slobs, stressed-out overachievers and proud Greeks. The bartenders, trained to be flirty for tips, tried their very best to keep the booze flowing and the conversations light. I looked around and saw a few guys whispering sweet lines into the ears of strangers, girls twirling and dancing to the music, wallflowers eyeing up people they would muster up the courage to talk to, and groups of friends sitting around the tables telling inside jokes. A normal night.
Nostalgia hits you in weird places when you’re at an old haunt: the bartender’s smile, that dartboard you lost game after game at, the conversations you had with strangers. Ghosts come in all shapes and sizes, rushing by in waves of hazy memories and forgotten conversations. We’ve seen too many familiar faces fade away into adulthood, off in some bigger city chasing larger dreams. Those of us who stayed still float around the city, searching for specters of the olden days, haunted by the people and places of our past.
It was after about one-and-a-half whiskey sodas that things started to get hazy. It was time to move on.
Whiskey has a way of making you stronger and weaker at the same time. This is never more apparent than when you’re having a one on one conversation with a pretty girl at a dark bar. During the good times, whiskey raises you up, pats you on the back for your accomplishments, and whispers in your ear that there’s nobody better or smarter or funnier or more attractive than you. Nobody is more capable than a man with a whiskey buzz.
During the bad times, whiskey kicks you down, laughs at you, and dares you to swim deeper and deeper into it until you get to the bottom. Whiskey makes you overthink. It makes you regret. It makes your failures float to the top of your consciousness, your anger surface.
Whiskey will inevitably make you say a lot of things. It may get her to smile. You’ll almost always make her laugh, either with you or at you. Whiskey will make you brave enough to share secrets with her, and if you’re lucky maybe she’ll tell you some of her own. You may think you’re having a profound moment, a pivot point in your life; you may see visions of the near future, her hand in yours and a smile on your face. But then you’ll leave. She’ll go one way, you’ll go another. The whiskey will turn back into a mean friend, the one that tells you it can’t believe you’re going home alone again, the one that can’t believe you actually thought you had a chance with her.
But then whiskey tucks you in and swiftly lulls you to sleep. The next morning, whiskey might kick your ass, but whiskey is never boring. At least you and it had a few adventures together, right?
Six Things To Remember About the Morning After
- It’s going to hurt. It’s like a college diploma does something to your brain and body to make the hangover stronger.
- I have yet to encounter a hangover that couldn’t be slayed or subdued by brunch
- If you don’t get a bloody mary or two, it is not brunch. It’s just breakfast.
- After brunch, you will lay down on your couch, snuggled into a warm blanket and completely into whatever crappy movie happens to be on TV. You will believe that you’ve earned this moment.
- Something electric happens at about 8pm on a Saturday night, no matter how difficult the day felt or how attractive your toilet looked. You will want to go back out and do it all over again
- Going to brunch twice in one weekend is not a crime
[more NaNoWriMo short fiction]
The winter fills the world with a cold monochrome landscape, dead trees and a frozen ground. The vibrant greens and blues of summer are replaced by the differing shades of grey. The emotions are rawer, the lows a bit lower. I think it’s the never-breaking monotony of the day during the winter that makes me feel this way; when I leave for work it’s dark, and when I leave again to go home it’s already dark. My friends are less apt to do anything; human hibernation is prevalent in the winter, and things like DVR and Netflix only make it more appealing.
But the good parts of winter are out there, buried in the dark, deep in the snow. The early season snowfalls, which for a while are beautiful, are like watching a scene out of a movie where the sensitive-yet-snarky protagonist walks down a neon-lit street where the snow is only slightly less fluffy than the hat of the girl holding onto his arm. Snow feels comfortable and calm before it feels cold and constricting.
Before the Holidays are over, everyone is happier, more cheerful, more open to connection. Snow and Christmastime are things that turn everyone back into a kid, if only for a while. Christmastime is something that must be experienced in the Midwest, or in New York, or anywhere with a measurable amount of snow and a cold bite in the air.
It was one of those snowy December nights I was oddly fond of, when it wasn’t blisteringly cold out and when the bitter winds didn’t blow, but when the big snowflakes were falling hard.
It was well past closing time, so we couldn’t stay in the bar. She lived close. She fed me a line about how I could sleep on her couch, but she was getting up early in the morning so I might as well just head home. I gave her a hug and started walking down the street. And another night alone, I thought. I was ready to spend the walk home analyzing the night, figuring out where I went wrong, and deciding if I actually really had a chance with her. I get lost in my mind sometimes, and a cold snowy night coupled with a few adult beverages always gets the introspection going.
A few seconds later, she yelled my name, and I turned around. I don’t remember what she said, but I’ll always remember that moment. There she was, out in the middle of the street, with heavy snow all around us and neon lights cutting through the dark night, waving goodbye. Maybe it was the whiskey, or maybe it was just the night playing tricks on me, but it felt like that moment lasted for ten minutes. It was like something out of a painting or a movie. It was beautiful.
And so I walked home with a glimmer of hope in my head, the kind of hope that grows in your brain with every conversation you have with Her, the kind that keeps you interested. The kind of hope that makes you think winter isn’t so bad.
The one thing you learn growing up in areas with cold, cold winters is that it will end. It may be months of frigid temperatures and moods, but it leaves, it’s replaced with the brighter days and your mood will thaw with the warmer temperatures
[November is National Novel Writing Month, and while I'm way too busy at work to actually devote much time to writing, I'm trying to give tiny stories a shot]
I’m a rare case; at the early age of 22 I was diagnosed with a hard-to-cure syndrome known as “a real job.” Others like me have the same symptoms: constant fatigue, irritability, disposable income, shrinking social life, and general maladjustment. We’re hopeful that they’ll find a cure in our lifetime, but none of us are holding our breath. Like everyone else, we spend our weeks waiting for Friday to come.
Luckily for us, we found medicine called Happy Hour. Happy Hour was a placebo that tricked us into thinking we were still in college. Over a few drinks, we could tell jokes about the rest of our coworkers and vent about all of the assholes and idiots we dealt with day to day. We did this without looking around at the rest of the patrons, because none of them looked all that happy anymore. We avoided the glum faces as much as we could and kept moving forward. Friday was only a few days away.
It was 4:59 on the first Friday of fall. The next 60 seconds went by at a snail’s pace, but once it hit 5:00 I remembered that I had about another hour of work to do. That’s alright, I told myself; the time between now and the night always drags by, and I might as well get something done. So I worked for another hour, hit the road and the liquor store and was home by 7:00. I was exhausted, but I still felt allergic to my couch. I had a whiskey soda, took a shower, and had another drink. I was revived and revved up, ready for another night.
My phone buzzed and I pulled it out to see what it wanted. “What are you doing tonight?”
A text from her was always welcome. She was a pretty girl, one that always had to deal with her looks overshadowing the rest of who she was. Girls like her always have an underlying sadness, as if they know they’ll be expected to play the role of the pretty, oblivious girl forever. She liked when people treated her a little differently. Before the party, I asked her and some other friends over to pregame.
Pregaming is the sacred art of imbibing with your friends before heading out into the night. It’s something we forgot to forget from college, a relic of a bygone era. It is a way to spend time with people you really like, not just the people you spent time with because they recognize you from school or work. It is an armor you put on before heading out to the dark bars or crowded parties. Smiles are brighter, laughs are louder, lives less inhibited. In the wintertime, it has the extra benefit of making everything warmer.
So we had a few drinks, turned the music up, and reveled in the crisp autumn night. Fall is the secret hero of the seasons here. Summer gets a lot of adoration in Madison; the Terrace is in full swing, the Farmers’ Market is vibrant and swarming with young families, and the city is oscillating between the sweltering summer heat of the day and the cool Midwestern breeze of the night. It is an excellent place to spend your lazy summers, watching the days float on like the sailboats over Lake Mendota’s waves.
But autumn is when the city reboots. The students reenter the city, the freshmen so eager and excited to start a new chapter of their lives, the seniors feeling the anxiety of their future saturating the air. In autumn the Badgers get back on the field, and the library is again filled with students pretending to get work done but really just casing the place for future bedmates. In autumn, the blood rushes back to the heart of the city and the world begins again.
After the third round of beer, gin or whiskey-whatevers and the second game of “ride the bus” we were ready to head out. The party wasn’t very far away; only a few blocks separated us from what was a comfortable get-together and what would be a wild mix of people I wish I never met, people I was avoiding, and a few people I genuinely liked. I paid the host and we received a red solo cup so we could have a few stale beers from the keg. Those cups were more artifacts from college we wanted so desperately to outgrow. We found an open spot in the corner of a room, and had our friends come to us.
As far as parties go, it was an uneventful, run-of-the-mill hour. We talked about how our jobs were slowly killing us, made fun of the host’s shitty idea of good music, and shared a few stories. We told jokes about the people at the party we didn’t like, relived a few of the glory days in college, and went about our night without looking back. There was nothing special about the party, but all of it hasn’t grown old yet.
The cup over the tap meant it was time to leave the party in search of somewhere a little darker and a lot more anonymous. There’s nothing worse than a dry party full of people you don’t want to know, so we flocked to the streets once more in search of a better buzz and a few more laughs.
There are rules you should break, and there are rules you should respect. Which rule belongs in which category is completely up to you. You will ultimately be defined by the rules you break. The world is built and enhanced by those who break the right rules and respect the others.
You will be rejected, by girls and jobs and friends and enemies. You will feel left out. You will feel alone. If you’re strong and smart and brave and confident enough, you won’t let that darkness cover you and define you.
The biggest lie we tell ourselves is that we’re special, that we’re alone in feeling the way we do. The truth is, we all feel the same basic things. When you do feel rejected and alone, just remember that everybody else does too. Friends will dampen the bad times and enhance the good times.
You will have good friends and bad friends and friends you only keep around to compete with. Some will journey with you, others will fall behind. Find the ones you can spend lazy time with, time spent going to brunch or sitting at the park. If you can sit around with a group of people, watch crappy TV, and still enjoy yourself, you’ve found your best friends.
You will collide with strangers who will leave scars (good and bad) that you’ll carry with you for the rest of your life. Deep, ephemeral connections with strangers during an impromptu adventure are some of the most memorable moments you’ll have. Some of these collisions will last for a long time, some of them will be fleeting. Enjoy the moments.
If you’re not exercising now, start. We’re at the lazy peak of our physical existence, so it’s easy to forget to take care of our bodies. Right now, everything heals, and what we do often has little lasting power. Watch what you eat. Watch how much you drink. Soon your metabolism is going to shut down and the negligence will bite you in the ass.
Find something you’re passionate about and throw yourself into it. There is nothing more boring or useless than hating everything. Sarcasm, satire and cynicism are okay, but feeling electric about something is much better.
There are people who love to dichotomize the world, to assign people to teams, to categorize chaos. Remember that while some things are good and some things are evil, the majority of things lie in between those two poles. Don’t let anyone put you on a team you don’t belong on. Think for yourself and be a free agent instead.
Silence is your best friend and your worst enemy. Figure out how to find peace in silence and in nature. Nature has been here much longer than you, and it’ll be around long after you’re gone. Your job is to hunt for the beauty that exists in the world, and try as hard as you can to ignore the ugly.
As long as we’re young, we still have time. Take advice from your elders, take advice from the younger generation, and take advice from your generation. Most of all, take advice from yourself. Nobody sees the world like you.
Do things today and learn from the past. And never, ever forget to move forward.
(Inspired by/stealing from this)
Last August, I wrote about leaving the city I had come of age in and how it felt to leave all of my friends behind. As it turned out, I would get a job within the next couple of months, move out of my place in Minnesota, say goodbye to my temporary roommates (Mom and Dad), zip down I-94 and start a new life in my old town.
Now it’s almost one year later. Time flies, and I find myself thinking about how much movement happens in August and how much change occurs before the leaves turn shades of orange and red in this beautiful college town. New blood revitalizes the city and the old guard is packing up, leaving and transitioning to a new stage in their lives.
For the first time, I’m not part of it. My life is comparatively stagnant, though not necessarily in a bad way. I’d be completely immune to the moving and shaking of the August rush (a new apartment with a good friend barely counts as change) but for the fact that some of my best friends are moving on.
It’s a strange feeling watching friends you’ve known for some of the most formative years of your life leave. I’ve gone through it a few times, but this time it seems more potent, more permanent, because the last batch of my college friends without jobs in Madison are taking off. On one hand, I feel happy for them, because I know they’re headed out to chase their future and become the types of people they always dreamed of becoming.
On the other hand, it’s such a huge sadness to see cardboard boxes packed with memories you helped create fade away, down East Washington or Gorham headed towards their next big adventure. Pieces of a “me” that no longer exists are in those boxes, pieces that only remain in memories and pictures and deep pangs of nostalgia. As much as I dread watching my friends leave, I’m also mourning a past version of myself that they take with them.
It’s weird to be on the other side of moving out. I know that I have a life here, and I’m very happy with it, but I can’t help but wonder what life will be like without being in the same zip code as some of the people I’ve formed deep bonds with. I’m worried that after they leave, I’m going to be a less interesting person.
Then again, I know myself well enough to understand that I’ll never be happy with myself if I get complacent. I’ll always be chasing fun and running away from boredom. I’m not friendless in this town by any measurement. I still have a network of people I consider some of my best friends. I’m meeting people I barely knew in college, people who were only ancillary characters in my life’s story, and we’re becoming very close. We cling to each other because we all haven’t quite figured out how to make new friends, and I’ve started to figure out what amazing people they are. I also work with some very cool people, many of which I consider friends.
Everyone will move on eventually, and so will I, and we’ll go through these motions all over again. And that’s ok, because this change is good. It’s movement. There’s really nothing to worry about, because it’s all part of life. I can take solace in the fact that wherever my college friends are, and whatever they do, we’re inextricably linked to a particular time and place together. We’ll carry those memories with us, and they’ll help shape who we become.
So here’s to old friends dispersed across the country, starting new lives and starting over. For now it’s so long and goodbye, but I have a feeling our paths are bound to cross again. My couch is always open.
I generally save this blog for whole pieces and ideas fully realized. Of course, I’m not fortunate enough to pop out fully-grown word babies all of the time. Sometimes, there are kernels of ideas and fragments of stories that are scratching to get out and I can’t focus on anything else until I’ve gotten rid of them.
I put these things on Tumblr, a blog format born for fragments. If you’re unfamiliar, it’s like Twitter but without the character limit and the ability to share multimedia. In an attempt to save these fragments of stories from being buried under quotes, Simpsons references, dog pictures, and Rolling Stones music videos, here a few fragments I’ve written.
Maybe it’s because I’ve been watching a lot of “Game of Thrones” lately, but even in the heat of summer I can’t help but feel that “winter is coming.”
Walking these streets and feeling the wind blowing at a cool 66 degrees, I feel at home. I can’t go out every night and revel in the drunken haze of a college summer night in Madison anymore; I have actual work to do tomorrow. But I can always take a ten-minute walk around the block and breathe in a little of that feeling. The job can’t take that away.
I’ve ambled along the same streets in the worst winter has to offer; I’ve felt the sting of sub-zero wind pelting my face like needles. I’ve experienced the bitter cold, and I know how to use the buildings around me as protection against it on my walk home. But I’ve also felt the same wind cooling me off as I escape the oppressive heat of my AC-free apartment in the dog days of summer.
It’s lurking behind every corner, glaring at me during the warm months. It’s a somber realization that when the world turns and summer becomes fall and autumn turns to winter, the wind is no longer an ally in the ongoing War of Life.
Even in the darkest nights of winter, when the snow rises and the mercury falls, I know that in a few months the summer will come around and places like patios and the Terrace will usher my mood back above freezing.
I’m from the Midwest, born of the North Country. I’m conditioned for all of it. Maybe I’m doomed to be a slave of the seasons. Because honestly, I don’t know anything else.
Thoughts at 30,000 Feet
And it doesn’t even matter who the woman fiddling with multiple pill bottles, going to the airport bathroom, and coming out jittery and happy really is. In my story, she’s already the cracked-out grandmother who can’t survive her 2-hour flight without anything less than a bathroom bump and an ice cold Heineken. I sort of envy that dedication to non-sobriety, even at her age.
An airport is the closest thing to a human zoo I hope our society ever concocts. An airport is Mecca for people-watchers. Air travel is a look into the very best and worst of people.
Departures and arrivals bring out the rawest emotions; you have lovers, families and friends saying goodbye to each other and you have real grief and pain coming from it. You also see the pure elation resulting from the same people getting back to where they came from. Terrorism sort of killed the idea, but we all feel something when we’re watching a movie and someone’s racing to the airport to say all of the things they wish they said earlier.
On the other hand, airports bring out the ugliness in people. You see the TSA doing everything it can to keep everyone safe, but all they get is stink-eyes and accusations of privacy invasion by the very people they’re trying to protect. People think they have a lot more to hide than they really do.
Flight delays and cancelations create monsters out of seemingly-normal people. We’re so afraid of missing our chance to get home or missing an opportunity to be somewhere else, and we’ll lash out at anyone who gets in the way of it. As if an hourly employee working at the gate actually caused the delay or can do anything about it.
You need to have very, very thick skin to work at an airport.
I’m always surprised to see how conversations with strangers evolve on an airplane. You’re essentially invading the personal space of random strangers for a few hours, packed in like sardines.
Maybe you sleep. Maybe you dive into a book or work and turn on the iPod, if you’re like me. But maybe, just maybe, you start talking to this person. You probably start out making banal observations about the weather, the airline, the flight. Something safe, and something you can bond over. Delays and cancelations are good common enemies, so they’re a good conversation starter.
Then maybe you move onto more interesting things. I think the forced proximity and lack of exits causes most people to open up. You start telling this absolute stranger intimate things about yourself, because hey, why not. You’ll probably never see them again and it feels good to let your guard down for a while. You tell them about your wife, your kids, your job. Your boss might be a dick, your kids might be allstars, your marriage might be crumbling.
Before you know it, it’s time to turn off the electronics and hear the sound of the wheels coming out in preparation for landing. It’s time to end the conversation. This is when the weirdest part happens: you introduce yourself for the first time as you’re deplaning. Maybe you don’t tell them your name, because you dig the anonymity and they have all sorts of dirt on you. It’s odd, how people wait until the end of the flight to tell the stranger their name.
And then you never see them again.
Things are changing in my little neighborhood of blog-town. This is as much an explanation for what to expect out of me in the future as it is a reminder to Future Tom about the person I was. Bear with me, all 14 of you.
I’ve spent the last six or so months entrenched in a tiny bubble of the internet known as “ad-land.” I have learned a ton about advertising, social media, and marketing during this period because it’s my current passion. I like that in advertising you’re (theoretically) judged based on the quality of your ideas and your ability to make stuff. I like that good advertising can help shape pop culture. I want to be a part of that, so the last six months have been spent looking for a way to get my foot in the door of the advertising industry. It’s not an easy door to get into unless you have agency experience or a connection opens it for you.
Instead of zigging along on that path and waiting for the right ad job to pop up, I’m zagging. In a few days, I’m headed back to Madison, Wisconsin to be a Project Manager for a healthcare software company called Epic (cool name, right?).
It’s a huge change from what I’m used to. Since graduating, I’ve telecommuted to a PR firm in Houston. Working remotely is a strange experience, and it’s much different than working at an office (I wrote about it for The Next Great Generation. Check it out). I’ve never worked in a “real office” for a “real job” before, so it’ll be an interesting world to jump into.
Starting the new job creates a whirlwind of contradictory feelings. It’s exciting. It’s scary. It’s an overwhelming relief that I was finally able to get a great full-time job. It’s unexpected. It’s an amazing chance to learn new things, gain some new skills, and grow as a person. It’s also a little sad, because I’m going to have to give up a certain amount of writing, reading blogs, and tweeting.
But that doesn’t mean I have to (or am willing to) quit cold turkey. I’m still going to be that person who will be all-too eager to tell you which agency created that ad campaign and what I think of it. I’m still going to write whenever I get the chance, and a lot of it will still be about advertising and social media. Hell, maybe even some of my posts will be about non-advertising topics, like working with teams and all the new things I’m learning. I’m still going to read as many ad blogs as I can, and I’m still going to tweet about stupid things, interesting things, fun things, and funny things.
Basically, you’re still stuck with me. You just have to put up with less of me. Who knows, someday I’ll zag again and end up having a part in creating the ads I can’t stop rambling about. Only time will tell.
Wish me luck, folks. I might need it.