I drove up to my cousin’s lake house today to have a visit. I needed a change of scenery and he’s incredibly good company and so, the offer was too good to pass up. I am normally inclined to listen to a podcast or an audio book on a drive, but I don’t have the headspace for that right now. When I’m feeling gloomy, I have a tough time plugging into anything. I find myself in major zone out mode, often. And so, if I’m honest, I nurture that, give into it. It doesn’t exacerbate what I’m feeling. Not at all. If anything, it’s a release. Its soul nourishment. A reboot.
It’s hard to describe, but it’s almost like my brain is too filled with all the things that I’m stressing about or obsessing over, and to put anything else in feels overwhelming. It’s much easier to allow my brain to slowly empty, contemplate that feeling, and then refill from there.
Very longwinded way to lead into this: I blasted new music the whole ride. All two hours were filled with songs I have never heard. I do this often. I randomly stream music and then download anything I feel connected to. As a result, my music library is a giant mishmash, but also, a big pile of eclectic goodness. I don’t discriminate based on the singer, genre, or release date. I’m an open market shopper when it comes to music.
I loved a ton of music I heard over the two hours, but one song really stuck with me. Bow Anderson sings a song called ‘20s’. Great voice but more so, sensational lyrics. I was obsessed. They made me laugh and also, cry. I couldn’t stop thinking of the irony. A song about how life shifts after your 20s, but also during your 20s. How hilarious. How sad. How true. How untrue. How tragic. How incredible.
First things first, let’s read some lyrics together, shall we?
Go out, get drink, be young and reckless
Show up for work, don’t skip your breakfast
A functional member of society
Is that what you want from me?
Call up my mom, see how she’s doing
Tell her I’m good, who am I fooling?
Got too many new responsibilities
Don’t know what you want from me
‘Cause I’m just guessing, overstressing
I’m way out of my depth
Only got until I’m 29
To figure out what I’mma do with my life
At 25, I’m sleeping on my friend’s couch
At 21, my parents put the first house
I missed the feeling on my 19th birthday
Before the world became so goddamn heavy
‘Cause no one told me life would be messy
So so scary in your 20s
My friends back home stayed in the city
Now they’re engaged talking about babies
And I can’t even get a boy to text me back
What the fuck is up with that? (What the fuck?)
Leaving the club, sobering up, falling in love again
Everyday’s never the same, I wouldn’t change for nothing
I’m just tryna figure out all my problems out
Excuse me while I think out loud
Bow Anderson, 20s
I love these words because they resonate so profoundly with me. I love these words because they are sort of ridiculous, but not when you are that age and reflecting, more so when you are my age and looking back (and forward).
What’s obvious to me at this juncture is that with every age, there is expectation. With every age there is a thought of what you should be decided upon and what your life should look like and what should come next.
I don’t zone out while I’m driving as I have complete control over such things and well, I’m a stickler for safety. I am not zoning out. I am allowing myself to space out and reflect.
I am stretched out on a foreign mattress, gazing out a stranger window. There is snow gently drifting and it feels quiet. Everywhere. The world feels quiet for a world that is decidedly unquiet. It’s chilly but the kind of chilly I don’t mind. I flex my feet, pushing the balls of my feet forward and feeling the energy radiate up my legs.
I’m wearing overpriced socks with happy faces embroidered into them. This feels ironic and also, comforting. At least my feet are happy. My jeans are stiffer than I normally prefer and are hugging my thighs, swollen from my long run this morning. I’m wearing a favorite newer sweatshirt that has a sort of inside out feel. It has visible seams and a fuzzy exterior and this feels like a perfect representation of my insides.
I am inside out.
My hair looked amazing yesterday. I had it cut and dyed and I allowed Nikki to blow it out. I don’t often do this because I don’t have the patience and really, what’s the point? She’s going out on maternity and seemed excited over the prospect of making me look like a grown adult, and so, I relented.
Anyway, it was long and smooth and looks like it does never. When I laid down to go to sleep, I draped the silky strands behind me. I imagined myself a sun, rays stretching in every direction. A icy white fan of radiance.
Eight sleet filled miles this morning and I looked more drowned rat than woman on the town. And now, I’m the same as I always am in the most general sense. Long blondish curls with a moderate amount of frizz.
Why am I sharing this? I thought it was obvious. I’m painting a picture. If you really want to get into the scene, my ring adorned fingers are buried in those curls, twirling. Endlessly twirling. To recap, I am laying on a bed that is only mine temporarily, stretching through my happy feet, staring out a window into the late winter gray.
I am contemplating everything and also, my sore legs, and also, Ukraine and Russia and also, the horrifying anti-trans laws in Texas, and also, those lyrics.
Those. Fucking. Lyrics.
X
L.
thepathtoworthy.com 