I write this to you, on my notes app, in the middle seat on a JetBlue flight to Aruba.
I turned thirty yesterday — when I woke up there was still sleep in my eyes and the lingering taste of martinis from the night before, from when I clocked out of my server shift half an hour before midnight hit and my friends behind the bar blasted 50 Cent to the Friday night crowd and brought me and A shots. I woke up not alone, for the first time on my birthday in six years. A and Kelsey made me breakfast and then Nora and I worked on a paper chain, an idea I had the week prior, but there had been no time to execute. I was depending on myself to make this chain, throw something on tv or listen to a politics podcast, but Nora designed the color pattern — orange, pink, olive, navy, teal — and throughout the day all the roommates took turns working on the chain, like a small kindergarten, and then A hung it up, letting it glide as four banners on the ceiling of our hallway-turned-dining-room. He followed instructions from four girls all pointing at different directions. It was precise work, and I was so proud of us.
The paper chain reminded me of the memory books I used to make: four to six pieces of vellum paper, with photocopies of family photos collaged in them, all overlapping amongst the transparency and opaqueness of each other, like memories do. As my finger interlocked colors into paper circles I thought of this life I’ve built, not practically yet strangely careful, slowing learning to step out of my only-child bedroom existence. In my twenties this way of living provided me with safety — solitude was my cure to the angst of being 23, 25, 28. All the people I desperately wanted to let in wanted to consume me in a way that left me as a little pile of scraps, and I let them. I needed a place to feel whole, and once that felt like enough (what more, can life gift you then feeling safe and whole?) I felt as though I could brave newer waters, waters that were welcoming, instead of the darkness I adjusted to. I had to look in the hole in my chest that we all carry and pull out was what inside that was no longer fun to hold, and once all I had left was the bones I was born with, I could finally let myself be open to love in all its forms — let it seep into me, suddenly but very quietly: I liked myself.
I felt a bit sad, and disoriented, when I walked into work on the last day of my twenties after having folded laundry and cleaned during the morning. But it was also new, a preparation for life I didn’t carry in me at the start of my twenties, a preparation I thought would never be mine until one day it was and I felt not like a “grown up” but simply like I was growing up. It has happened to me suddenly, when I decided to manage my drinking, set boundaries, clean the living room, or disagree with someone I love. This year I have stopped wanting to be a better person. I just want to learn to be better at being the person I am.
I’m grateful for all the change this year brought me, changes that deep down I thought would probably never be mine, until one summer morning they all were. The Universe, I’ve learned, sings a low and mischievous hum. When I made peace with where I was, the universe had an new idea, a slow-built paper chain — orange /
pink /
olive /
navy /
teal.
Wowowowow!! TWO issues left of fotocopy in the year! Insane. Thank you for all of your support this year. I am so grateful to you for helping me continue this project — it’s the biggest creative project I’ve taken up and also the closest to being done. Ah!!
I am eternally grateful to all my friends who joined me in Boston to celebrate my birth! Thank you especially to Bri for making me the world’s best fudgy chocolate cake, with homemade glacéd cherries and all. Thank you to Kelsey, Nora, Sophie, and Ali for indulging me in my paper chain dream. This weekend reminded me of one of my favorite lyrics from Slow Dance by Clairo, which encompasses what I feel about all the friendships in my life:
when candles burn out
And the record is faded down
I know you've got people to turn to
I love you all!
I’m in Aruba this week as a birthday gift from A!!! Ah again! It’s my first resort vacation and I’m so excited to buy a silly Aruba bucket hat. Collectively, we have ambitiously brought seven books to read — my first read is Kairos by Jenny Erpenbeck, which I’ve been eyeing for a long time and was gifted this week. I’m so ready to just lay on a beach and read all day!
While writing this on the plane I listened to music played from my downloads at random then gathered the songs that felt like little signs/treats from the universe in this playlist here. I always feel extra vulnerable when I’m up in the air and these songs helped me relish in that a little longer.
See you next week <3
til the next, with so much love and gratitude —
Gabo