the length of waves

Oh, we’re half way there.

 

Day seven was one I was a little timid to live. I had proven to myself that I could survive a bar of strangers, but today, on this TGIF, I was attending a bbq at my old apartment complex. Now, this isn’t just any old apartment complex. I can only think to explain my time on Glendale Blvd. as my own personal rumspringa; it was the time in my life when I finally learned to run free.

 

I’d lived at home until the big move situated me just a few doors up from one of my favorite bars and coincidentally one floor up from the guy I thought was a total babe, who frequented said favorite bar. The thing is, everyone that lived there was a babe. Was talented. Had ambitions, passions, and an insatiable thirst for all of the booze. I lived at home throughout college so I never experienced the dorm scene; for me, this was it. Nine units of perpetual party. Of 4 am jam sessions. Of record listens and sidewalk chalk art. We referred to our complex as “Melrose Place” and it wasn’t without reason; we shared stories, smokes, and often the same sheets. My first night in the complex was the first time I slept with someone who I wasn’t in a relationship with. I had lost my balance at the bar and fell in to his lap, which had me fall in to a three year on and off series of 2am “what are you up to?” texts. That first night I walked the flight of stairs back to my apartment, laid in my new bed, listened to some girl scream “freedom” outside of the bar. I felt it, too.

 

Living about fifty feet away from your favorite bar is a really beautiful and dangerous thing. It helped me create some of the best friendships. It helped me create some of the most magnificent mistakes. My first time hurting someone in adulthood with the accomplice of alcohol happened here. I found love in a photobooth and destroyed it on the floor of someone’s childhood home. I was greedy and inconsiderate and couldn’t be bothered. That night still bothers me now. I don’t mind that I’ve made so many mistakes and, to be honest, I’m so happy they’ve happened. They’ve contributed to my human experience. My behaviors. My betterment. I cherish every misstep, every stumble that I ever had in apartment 8, and all the people that were there to witness them. All the people I was now standing in front of, sober.

 

I did that. That was me.

I had made some buffalo chicken dip and my very own gigantic mocktail that I knew would be my sweet savior of the night. Both were all of the rage. The dip because it was delicious and the mocktail because it was pretty and people were curious why I had some enormous bottle with leaves of sage dancing in it with each reposition of stance I took. The air was crisp and the sky at that perfect moment just before you lose the sun completely. And something beautiful happened.

People started talking to me about the things I made. The dip, the drink, this thing here, whatever it is. Being “good” at these things took away any insecurity I felt from my withholding from whiskey; from my choice to stand here sober. It removed what I had, for so long, deemed my master status in these situations. Like I raised the sun back in to position to shed some light, it finally hit me. I finally felt proud. I finally felt happy with myself and my ability to offer so much more than drunken dialog. And it wasn’t just because other people told me so, it was because I felt it, it radiated from my core. What a feeling to be a different kind of invincible; the invincible that is result of confidence in every movement, every action, every thought process of “this is exactly what I want to be doing.” What an experience to grow with those around you. To change and remain the same. To look back and know that everything you’ve ever done has led up to this moment. I breathed deeply. I soaked it in. I wanted to remember it all. I wanted to feel all the feels.

I drove home and rested my body in my new bed. In my new apartment. In my new skin. For the most part, we’re all taught to love ourselves. To celebrate the things that make us unique, the things that drive us, the things we can create with our hands, with our minds. I thought I had been doing this, but tonight felt different. Tonight felt pure. Tonight I did something that I hadn’t done in the longest time. Tonight I trusted myself tonight I was proud. And I felt it all.