life

Fast Car

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Hannah Horvath

*Warning: Some major love for Girls ahead*

Tracy Chapman’s “Fast Car” has been running through my head since last night after watching the series finale of Girls. My desire to feel and embody the sadness of the song was satiated thanks to Spotify.  I listened to it on repeat too many times than I’d like to admit to today—thanks, Lena Dunham. I listened repeatedly to summon my tears; I was almost on the brink of doing it, but I had to stop for a slice of veggie pizza on my way home and it would have looked ridiculous if I had walked in wiping tears away.  I just wasn’t in the mood to face the judgmental eyes of my regular pizza guy (this kinda sorta unintentionally rhymes). Why, you ask, was I hoping for a stream of tears? Because I was hoping for the sweet catharsis and utter satisfaction that comes with the release of a damn good cry.

It’s because last night was the end of Girls or what felt like the end to my overextended adolescence, but most importantly it was that realization of holy-shit-I’m-almost-30-and-I-still-haven’t-moved-to-Brooklyn, and that I have yet to attend a warehouse party in Bushwick. YEAH, I KNOW. Please stop judging me for a second and hear me out. Sure, I KNOW, it’s like, what-in-the-hell-is-wrong-with-me? It’s hard to imagine that one could be so affected by a fantastically written television show (Sunday night HBO programming, nonetheless), but alas, here I am, affected. Stories, in any form as we all know,  can reflect upon you like a mirror. It shows you things about yourself you may not want to see and sometimes, on very rare occasions, it perfectly expresses the sentiment that life is not always what you think or thought it will or would be, and sometimes emotional pain is too much to bear, but fuck it—-we’re all in emotional pain our entire lives, as mama Horvath says, and you just have to fucking deal with it. You can either move along and continue to march to the beat of your own drummer, or you can run out and away from it all, having forgotten to pump your breast milk.

I’m sad. And listening to “Fast Car”, which by the way if you don’t know (and I’ve causally forgot to mention), was the song of choice for the finale episode of Girls. It’s beautiful and comforting in the sadness it expresses. Plus, I can’t quite get over the beautifully unique voice of Tracy Chapman. I can’t seem to get the mimic down no matter how hard I try or for how long I sing into the mirror while the song plays. The song—it’s the thought of driving towards your dreams but knowing that you’ll never get there because it’s a dead end or a one way street. Fuck. The tears are welling up again.

Putting all of this aside for a second, my sadness also stems from the end of a relationship, not with a man, but with a television show. A show that has for five long years been a source of familiarity, laughter, a mirror to which my millennial cohorts and I reflected on our post-collegiate life of ups and downs and trying to figure out who the fuck we are, what we fuck we want out of life, and the deep fear of never actually getting it. In other words, it represents what we may never be and we all just have to be fucking OK with it. And oh yeah, I’m turning 30 soon and I’m faced with the existential crisis of realizing that some of the decision that I make now can affect the course of my life. I am one of the most indecisive people you will ever meet, by the way. It’s also realizing that the idea of something is not the same as actually doing, and that sometimes those two things never quite mesh the way we had hoped.

It’s scary to face or think about coming into yourself, and of age, and of leaving pasts behind that you’ve outgrown, subsequently turning into another person, and eventually reproducing extensions of your self. I watched Hannah go through it, albeit fictionally on television, and it’s scary: We older millennials are getting older and it’s not all Bushwick warehouse parties and tattoos and crack spirit guides—it’s more than that. It’s more than all the drunken nights out and coming home at the crack of dawn and functioning the next day after having one too many tequila shots. We’re getting older, and some of us are starting to have kids, who are not named Grover? Please do not name your child Grover.

The end of this beloved series (at least for me) coincides with the theoretical end to my own view of myself as a young adult as I close out my 20’s in a few short months.  With all of the show’s criticism and privilege that some of the characters had, it was all-too real and relatable to my particular cohort. It was a mirror for my 20’s, to all the mistakes I’ve made, all the friends I’ve gained and lost, and all the nights out in Billyburg that ended either at Alligator Lounge or Bagelsmith.  I will miss the reflection of that part of my youth staring right back at me.

Excuse me while I go hop into a Fast Car and head into my future.

Hitchin’ a Ride

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Today, on this first official day of Summer (with a capital S) I learned that no one is hiring. And I mean, NO ONE IS HIRING. Every job posting is a joke and a taunt, and I truly believe that they’re ALL fake. Or the job is already taken. This is definitely the worst time to look for a job because everyone’s brain is on temporary vacation until after Labor Day. I’m actually OK with that, but what about afterwards?

Today really was a beautiful day.

I thought about moving forward and moving backwards. I thought about how far ahead of the game I used to be, and how I knew exactly what I wanted and how I was going to get there. But then, somewhere along the way I fell behind, terribly behind, and have used the past year to catch up on the last 5 years that I lost out on, career-wise. Figuring out what you love and what-you’re-meant-to-do-for-the-rest-of-your life is utterly exhausting, and soul crushing and every other life-crushing metaphor you can conjure up. Everybody seemed to have kept moving during those 5 years, but not me. I was happy where I was, at the time until I wasn’t, having missed out on actually enjoying my standing-still time because of my own perfectionist tendencies and academic endeavors. I finally got my chance to be a fuck-up for a while. And it was the best thing I could have ever done, for me.

I got my body tattooed, explored New York City’s farthest reaches and darkest corners, met the most interesting and fucked-up people, spoke to anybody that I could anywhere I could, spent a lot of money, made a lot of money, explored the depths of my sexuality and along the way, fell in love, and  I finally discovered what I wanted. Which, funny enough, lead me right back to where I started.

I guess everything is cyclical.

I’m happy to continue on and reach farther and ignore the fact that I fell behind because I gained more than I ever could have in retrospect, if I had followed the traditional path. I think about how miserable I would have been if I didn’t pull over to the side of the road for the while and decide to hitch a ride. Granted it’s not the safest thing in the world, but it sure as hell was fun.

Now, let’s all head to the beach.

Taryn

XO

What’s The Deal With 27?

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On a not-so-beautiful early Saturday evening on Labor Day weekend I find myself at home, thank god. It is such sweet relief to be sitting at my computer and not standing around in an empty restaurant in newly minted fine dining restaurant attire; I am more than happy to leave my black tie in my locker, along with my apron and wine key to be used at a later date. And I am also happy to leave the deep and dark misery I feel that is waiting tables (until I am set in my career) there and stuffed into my locker with other tangible objects.

On this Saturday evening, when I should be enjoying a beach of some sort, I am inside thinking, in a pensive mood and reflecting. I am on the cusp of turning 27 and although the age itself is not horrifying it is most unusual that a large portion of my 20’s has passed me by, realizing that I am not where I am supposed to be just yet but I am closer than I have ever been before. What is most unusual is that I am no longer a child, true I haven’t been a child in years but I have finally reached full-grown-up territory, uncharted terrain if you will where biological clocks tick louder and where every move you make can severely affect the rest of your life. In other words, there is no more fucking around, literally and figuratively. At least it feels that way.

26 sounds safe to me, not as threatening as 27, although I must admit I felt the same way when I turned 25, reaching that quarter of a century mark, feeling as if I had to grow up right then and there. 26 was not the best year and for most of it I had reverted to being a child, sucking up whatever residual childhood I had left in the way that one sips, rather slurps disgustingly loud, that last little bit of Acai Super Antioxidant Jamba Juice until you get that last little bit of blueberry….I mean, I pay almost $6 for the drink and I want to make sure I have every last drop of it, I try to get my money’s worth but it’s also fucking delicious. Am I the only one who still drinks Jamba Juice? I remember when it was made popular by Britney Spears when she was Britney Spears. My age must really be showing now.

I find myself now yearning for the past (I am incredibly nostalgic) and to go back to a simpler time where the most important thing I had to worry about was making sure that my camp t-shirt was ironed and that I was wearing the right color on the right day and then having to make it to camp on time in the morning after having had one too many beers the night before because I would lose so terribly at beer pong (BEIRUT!!) Oh, and remembering sun screen and also remembering to put gas in the car. I was a camp counselor for eight summers and it was a glorious carefree time. What I wouldn’t do to go back.

As time has progressed through my 20’s, life has only gotten harder and I can’t seem to figure out if it has been at my own hand or if it has been the hand I have been dealt. I feel as if I have purposely been challenged, more so over the past year, than at any other point in my life. It’s true that I have become more resilient but I have also become incredibly jaded and much more cynical. I guess that is what happens when you get older: what else could go wrong? I have learned to laugh at hardship upon hardship because at a certain point it actually becomes pretty funny. It’s better than crying.

As I trip and stumble to 27 and say goodbye to 26 on September 8th I can’t help but have mixed emotions: happy to move upward and onward with my life and be finished with what have been the hardest months of my life but sad that I’m moving closer to 30 and now having no choice but to grow the fuck up and realize that credit cards are not another phrase or representation of free money (I knew that before but being the grown-up that I am I am exercising super-human control right now) and that I need to conduct myself as an adult who makes rational life decisions. It’s exhausting. I am at a point in my life where everything is falling apart and everything is coming together at the same time. I’m on to the next chapter and hoping that this one will be easier, less confusing and more exciting than the last.

Hopefully I’ll survive the curse of 27 that Jim Morrison, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Kurt Cobain, and Amy Winehouse couldn’t quite beat (they didn’t live long enough to see their 28th birthday).

Here’s to 27!

Check out my list of 27 honest realities about life you must accept before turning 27 that was published by Elite Daily.

Taryn 

XO

On Death and Destiny

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This past week has been one of both utter sadness and of a renewed and deep appreciation for life, one that I don’t believe I have ever felt before, making both large and small problems and annoyances seem like nothing. I wore them like a badge this week, a signifier of the living. This past week an unexpected (at least to me) death of an old friend and work colleague occurred, passing away at the age of 24 from brain cancer. For the first time in my young life I experienced the death of someone that was more or less my own age. Death became a reality that I have never thought about, never paid attention to because I am at a point in life where death is highly unlikely and a time in which YOLO is the only way to live: without consequence (or minimal consequence) and without fear. I do not feel the same anymore because for the first time death is real, although itself intangible it is there. And it can happen. And now more than ever I wish to come out of my haze of confusion and happiness and live. I want to feel grateful to be alive and to wake up in the morning and see the beautiful sun shining, providing us all with light and life and then roll over and see the man I love fast asleep, beautiful and peaceful with me unable to do anything but smile. For the first time in my life, deep down to my very core, I feel grateful and enlightened.

On my way to her wake, I saw more old friends: friends I have regretfully lost touch with and those who were glorified acquaintances, nevertheless, in The Big Chill-like fashion we were all reunited happy to see each other despite the devastatingly awful occasion. As I walked in to go see her and say goodbye, nervous as could be as I almost did not know how to act, there she was. In that instant I remembered her youthful beauty, the way she was and how she was full of life, hope and great promise. My tear ducts were blocked from being in a state of disbelief but my stomach had surely made up for my lack of salty tears. People from all different walks of life filled the room to show their love and support and I was not surprised to see how many people loved her and wished to say goodbye. I couldn’t take being in there for that long and as I turned to leave I saw two white poster boards with pictures of my friend from the day she was born up until her passing: pictures of her having fun, pictures of her with her family and her fiance and pictures of her enjoying her full albeit, short life. I looked at her baby picture and was reminded of how short her life would inevitably be. A wave of sorrow overcame me. How could this be? I thought. How does something like this happen? I wish I had gotten to see her one last time. She always had such a beautiful smile.

I walked back towards the train with my friends and I realized what an uncharacteristically warm and beautiful day it was in early April. I suddenly felt a deep appreciation for something as simple as a warm day and at that moment I couldn’t imagine not being able to look up at the sky and breathe in the freshest air that New York City has to offer. 

In the days since her wake I have thought about destiny, that bitch who lives by her own rules and who is already aware of where your life is going and of course, the when, where and how of your inevitable demise. Some people do not believe in the concept of destiny but I do to a certain degree and I apply it to the things I cannot change, I accept everything that is and that will be. I feel free. I know now that it’s time to live and to not hold back, take chances and do what you love. If I don’t wake tomorrow I want to know that I was doing what I love, living my life to the fullest and that I had all the love in the world from my family, my boyfriend and my friends. I do not want anymore days of unhappiness to pass me by. I’m trying.

Rest in peace darling and thank you for helping me to see the beauty in life.

 

xo Taryn

 

Choices

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Lately I have been thinking about choices, mostly because it has been difficult for me to make one. The word options has also come to mind, along with the thought that once I make this choice my other options disappear rather quickly…or do they? But mostly I think about choices and the bad ones I have made over the course of my 25 years (almost 26). I speak, for the most part, about the ones that I have made over the past 5 years, the ones that really matter. For instance: what career path am I choosing…do I continue my education…what men should I date or not date…what friends do I keep in my life…what should I be putting on/in my body or not putting on/in my body? These are very broad questions  and they sound almost stupid but these questions are my reality and have been my reality for the past 5 years. It’s weed out time but I still have time. Time to figure out what to do with my life.

I love to think about choices because they encompass everything that you do. Why have I made some of the choices I have made in my life? What if it was meant to happen this way? Your choices both good and bad are necessary, a sort of necessary evil that has shaped you into the person you are today and you are better for it. This is an incredibly positive way to think and now I feel that I don’t know who is writing this post. It must be someone else. Me? Positive? Not these days. In fact, far from it.

But what if all of this misery that I feel and the unhappiness of the everyday is meant to drive me, push me forward in a way to a place that I am supposed to be? I know my writing is better the more unhappy I am, in that case, the unhappiness drives me. But then, wouldn’t one have to believe in a grand design to all things big and small? I guess maybe I do believe that. I desperately want to believe that. After all, I am finally able to reach momentary happiness while I sit and write and express myself. I know I was supposed to make all of these ridiculous mistakes and turn down great opportunities to career paths that I may have been programmed to want, at no one’s fault but my own. But why do I still cry almost every day over lost opportunity? It comes back to choices. Once you make one choice, the other’s fade away but I cry as if all opportunity is lost. And it isn’t.

I am trying to learn to live positively, taking all the good with the bad but it’s so difficult when the mind has been beaten down and smashed in for so long over conscious, perhaps even unconscious choices of where to go and who to go there with and why.

One day I know, these choices will get easier and make more sense. Perhaps in hindsight.