I remember slurring this phrase over and over to an assortment of worried friends and coworkers when I would stumble into a morning obligation with swollen sleep-deprived eyes, a cup of cheap coffee in my shaking hand and my hair pushed underneath an oversized knit beret. Said friends and coworkers were always reminding me to take it easy, that my body was young and vulnerable, but their advice always fell to the wayside. I’d usually have some remnants of the night before on me; black patent leather pumps with scuff marks from dancing and running down the street, smoky eyeshadow rubbed under my eyes, (so heroin chic) or a large stamp brand on my forearm signifying, in case no one already knew, that I had been out drinking.
Some might call this the walk of shame, but in my case, I liked to call it the morning stumble of glory. Knowing that I could become a creature of the night when I would have to shuffle into work the next day, and having a great story written all over me seemed so delightfully YOUNG.
Sure I may have caused myself some unnecessary grief when I would wake up with 5 minutes to get ready for an important meeting or had to deal with a massive hangover while sitting through a discussion of which green silk swatch came out truest to what the color "happy grass" should look like in production, (Try to hold back the vomit) but that’s part of being 21, right?
We’re invincible, indestructible creatures who manage to drag ourselves out night after night for another round of vital organ punishment, and if you can manage it, hold down a gig that requires you be up, charming and peppy at some ungodly hour. (I’m still looking for that job that only really wants me in by 10, but for now, I’ll have to keep dreaming) We can survive merely on red bull, vodka, cigarettes and the occasional bizarre morning pastry. The only sustained exercise regimen we take part in is a chance dance-off with our newly discovered bar rival, and that two miles we decided to run in heels Sunday night when we got excited at the prospect of that Astro Burger down the street.
You make friends based on who can hold their liquor, and on whose drunk antics are funny, but WON’T get you kicked out of a bar. Friends who look go into your closet and hand you that crazy dress you always secretly wanted to wear out but never had the guts to and say nothing but "you’re wearing this tonight." Friends who have a talent for noticing the creepazoid who has managed to dance up behind you and gracefully sashay you out of harm’s way. Friends who shoot you that congratulatory morning text, "U were on fire last night. Bravo. Up for round 2 tonight?" Friends who wake you up that next morning with a cup of coffee in one hand and a can of beer in the other.
These are the people you spend your youth with. As long as you live, you’ll have the stories to share of that time you pretended to be a celebrity to get into VIP or had to pull the other away from that dick head of a cop trying to bust a perfectly good party. These people will probably be the ones offering up a toast at your wedding, on first baby sitting watch when you have kids, the ones wooping it up with you at your 50th birthday party. They are the ones who knew you while you were young, hazardous and still coming into your own. And let me tell you, nothing strengthens the bond between two friends like taking care of a good puker.
Being young allows you to make mistakes, to learn from experiences and people and to do all of those things you always wanted. Don’t believe me? Imagine doing these things when we’re 40 or 50 and see if that guy behind the 7 Eleven counter thinks it’s quite as hilarious.
every waking day is a new adventure.
let us take chances and make mistakes.
let us look back on these days when we are old
and know that we would have changed nothing
and that we left no door unopened.
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