Older And Wiser, Apparently
8/17/20267 min read
So I turned 29 last week.
My birthdays have never been my favorite days. I know it's such a not-Leo thing to say, but I swear I've never cared that much about my own birthday. I care about my friends' birthdays way more. I'm usually planning what I'm going to design on their wine bottle that year well ahead of the date, trying to find the perfect picture and figure out what they're currently interested in, obsessed with, or would find funny enough to make a design they'll immediately want to show everyone.
Maybe that actually is a Leo thing in a way. I don't think I make my friends' birthdays about me, but I do enjoy being the person with the original gift that I know nobody else got them. I want them to open it, crack up and immediately start showing everyone like, Look at this.
So maybe I don't need the birthday attention. I just need some attention at everybody else's birthday.
Anyways, I turned 29.
I had a birthday party thing with three of my other friends whose birthdays are the same week as mine, and guilty as charged, I contributed just about nothing to the entire event. Luckily, my friend Ella planned a sick party, invited our friends and generally handled everything while I apparently participated as an honored guest at my own birthday.
Thank God we have almost exactly the same friends, because the few people I know in NYC who aren't particularly close with her wouldn't have known about the party at all if they hadn't asked me what I was doing for my birthday a few days beforehand.
And I genuinely responded, "I'm so sorry, I forgot we had this thing, but you are obviously invited." So welcoming of me. But I swear it was honest. Turning 29 itself felt like whatever. Like every other birthday, I didn't wake up feeling older or wiser. Yes, it's the last year of my twenties. Big deal.
The party was actually a week before my real birthday. I had fun, left early because I had to open at work the next morning — like the responsible adult I'm apparently turning into, behold! — and didn't think much more about it. Then my actual birthday came.
And for some reason, it hit me. What am I doing with my life? Where do I want it to go?
These were not questions I had been actively seeking answers to. Frankly, I don't know that I really want the answers. I like the mystery. I like going with the flow. But there I was, slightly hungover after celebrating yet another friend's birthday the night before, suddenly conducting an unsolicited performance review of my entire existence.
When I was a teenager, I definitely thought people who were 29 had a house. A career. A husband. For a while I think I just assumed a husband eventually got assigned to you. You grow up, become an adult, and at some point here's this man you're apparently supposed to live with now.
Which probably explains why the whole thing didn't fascinate me very much until I realized around 16 that, first of all, it's a choice. And second of all, I'm gay. That cleared up a few things. So forget the husband. I do love the idea of love. I truly hope I fall in love one day. It's just not something that's currently keeping me up at night.
Honestly, not many things keep me up at night because my days are pretty filled up. I work a lot, I do a lot outside of work, I'm constantly talking to someone, going somewhere or working on something, and I have an insane amount of thoughts running through my poor-excuse-for-a brain at all times. When I finally go to bed I am too tired to be kept up by whatever.
But one day, I think it would be really nice to build something with someone. To have a person to share all jokes and completely unnecessary observations with. It would probably also be a huge weight off my friends' shoulders, considering they currently receive all of them. Not that I would ever abandon my friends for one person. Absolutely not. They will continue receiving information they never requested. It would just be nice to have sort of a go-to.
Children, on the other hand, I can pretty confidently say I do not want. I want to spend my money on me. Potentially one day I'll spend a lot of it on someone I love. Not because they are younger than me and "my property" and I have to take care of them (side note - are children considered 'property'?) but because they are their own person that I love. Great. Trips, dinners, gifts, whatever. That sounds fun.
But I cannot imagine raising an entire human. They're expensive. They need things constantly. And then apparently you have to keep doing it for YEARS. No thank you. So really, I shouldn't count "no children" as evidence that I'm behind. That's one area where I'm actually exactly on schedule. Still, on my birthday, I felt a little behind for some reason.
I don't have a house. I have not been assigned a husband — and that is simply just not what's going to happen — and I just started a new job in a career I'm not even sure I want. But then I remembered all the things I have done.
I moved from Poland to Vegas when I was 18. A few years later, I moved to LA. I went to film school. I worked on various film sets and approximately seventeen thousand other jobs in between. Then I moved to New York. Somewhere along the way I built a reputation for being hilarious and honest — at least according to me, but I do think my friends would confirm — and for being the direct friend who will tell you exactly how it is but will also support you no matter what.
I also somehow became very good at hospitality, mostly because I genuinely care about the people around me. And because I've been doing it forever. When I was growing up, my mom had Italian restaurants in Poland and she made me work a lot. Partially because I wanted to move to the United States and needed money, and working was, unfortunately, the most reliable way to acquire it.
I remember having to cover a shift at her restaurant the day before my final math exam in high school. Then I failed the math exam. For a while I sort of blamed it on working too much. But to be honest, I would've failed it anyway. I was always terrible at math. Blame it on being gay, I think. And my math teacher who stole my calculator before one of the exams - and my parents very unhappily had to go to a meeting. But that's a whole another story.
So when I actually look at what I've been doing with my life, I think it's pretty fucking cool. I've tried a lot of different things. I've been to a lot of different places. I'm not afraid of much. In fact, I kind of like putting myself in uncomfortable situations just to see what happens. And weirdly, it often works out.
Earlier this year, I quit my job because I realized I'd been there for two years, which is the longest I've ever stayed at a job, and I wanted to travel through Australia and Southeast Asia. I also wanted to get back into writing after barely doing it for two years.
So I did. While traveling, I finished a comedy feature screenplay. I mostly started it on a whim because I wanted to prove to myself I could actually finish one again. And now that screenplay got selected for the Broad Humor Film Festival in Los Angeles. It's getting some traction. I'm flying back to LA because of something I sat down and decided to write while traveling around the world. And apparently I did it pretty well. That's exciting. So maybe I'm not behind. Maybe I'm actually steps ahead. Except I don't really think life is a race by any means. I don't know what life is, really.
I also don't like comparing myself to other people, and I don't think people should compare themselves to me either. I mean, if I wasn't me, I would be soooo jealous.
I'm cool. I have a great life. I have loving friends and family. I've somehow collected people I love all over the world. I don't walk around acting like anyone owes me anything, but I do generally operate under the assumption that I owe the people around me basic human decency and, whenever possible, laughter.
I really love making people laugh. That's sort of my thing.
Sometimes I forget how unconventional but amazing my life actually is.
Being unconventional is basically my entire brand, and yet every once in a while I look around at a life I deliberately built this way and wonder why it doesn't look more conventional. Which is objectively ridiculous.
I don't know what's next for me. I don't know where I'll be living, what I'll be doing, whether I'll still be working in restaurants, what will happen with writing, or who I'll be sharing all my unnecessary thoughts with.
And I actually don't think I want to know yet. I'm excited to see what the next chapter is. I'll figure it out. I always have.