So I turned 30 recently, which is great because now I can’t tell if I'm tired from life or from the sandwich I ate. Like, I used to eat pizza at 2 a.m. and wake up energized. Now if I smell pizza after 8 p.m., my kidneys file a complaint with HR.
I tried to be healthy. I got one of those fitness watches. It keeps congratulating me for “standing up.” That’s where I’m at in life. I stand up and my wrist is like, “We’re doing it! Everest next?” I love how it asks if I’m still working out when I’m just trying not to pass out after carrying groceries up the stairs. That’s my CrossFit: two trips, third-floor walk-up, and a bag of oranges rolling all the way back to 1997.
I joined a gym. First day, the trainer asked, “What are your goals?” I said, “I want to look good enough to not think about how I look.” He’s like, “So… therapy?” I said, “Hey man, if your membership included therapy, I’d sign the five-year contract.” He took me to the squat rack. I asked how many sets. He said, “Until you feel the burn.” Sir, I feel the burn when I open my emails.
Dating is different now too. I’m on apps. Dating apps are just shopping for people with worse lighting. It’s like Amazon for emotions. You filter by age, distance, politics, and then you meet and realize the only filter you needed was “chews with mouth closed.” Bios are wild. “I’m looking for someone who can keep up with me.” Keep up with what, Sarah? Your obsession with houseplants? Are we running a race through your monstera?
I went on a date and she said, “I’m an empath,” which I think is code for “I’m about to tell you how you feel.” She said, “You’re nervous.” I said, “No, I’m fine.” She said, “You’re scared to be fine.” I said, “I’m scared this is the appetizer and the entree is a pyramid scheme.” She said, “I sell skincare.” I knew it.
We all have that friend who’s like “I’m obsessed with travel,” as if the rest of us are obsessed with staying in the basement. I like travel, but traveling now is just paying to be confused in a different country. I landed somewhere recently, they handed me a SIM card, a transit card, a paper map, and a QR code. I felt like I was joining a scavenger hunt team I didn’t train for. People say, “When I travel, I like to get off the beaten path.” I tried that. Turns out, the beaten path has bathrooms.
Airports are just long lines punctuated by small disappointments. TSA takes my toothpaste like it’s a weapon. Sir, if Crest can take down a plane, we need to rethink planes. I love the boarding process, everyone pretending they don’t want to board first while hovering like seagulls near a sandwich. We all become amateur meteorologists when the pilot says there’s a slight delay. “Looks clear to me.” Oh good, he’ll cancel the storm because you’re wearing sunglasses indoors.
I’m terrible at sleep. You ever lay down like, tonight, we rest! Then your brain’s like, what if we revisit a conversation from 2009? Remember when you said “You too” to the waiter who said “Enjoy”? Let’s loop that for the next four hours. Also, your foot’s itchy in a way it’s never been itchy before. Good luck.
Social media thinks it knows me. It shows me videos like “Top 10 signs your houseplants hate you,” “This one weird trick to fix your posture,” and “Do this daily or your hips will explode.” I watched a video on financial planning and now it thinks I’m 74. All I get are ads for comfortable shoes and life insurance. Honestly, not mad about the shoes.
I tried meditation. The app’s like, “Notice your breath.” Okay. “Notice your thoughts.” That’s all I do. “Let them go.” How? They don’t have handles! I want a guided meditation that meets me where I am. “Hey, lay down. Here’s a blanket fresh out of a dryer. We’re going to think about nothing. Here’s a puppy. We deleted your email app.” That’s enlightenment.
I live in an apartment with thin walls. I know my neighbor’s entire schedule and we’ve never met. I know his alarm tone, his favorite show, and his laugh, which sounds like a goose being tickled. I’m not judging. My laugh sounds like a bicycle bell having a panic attack. The other day he was practicing trumpet. For three hours. Now, I don’t know much about music, but I know when God doesn’t want you to have a hobby.
I’m trying to be a better person. I started bringing reusable bags to the store. I feel like a superhero until I forget them and now I’m raw-dogging groceries in my arms like a raccoon who got promoted. I always think I can carry everything in one trip. I’ll dislocate a shoulder before I come back for that last bag of quinoa. That’s pride. That’s Greek tragedy with hummus.
Anyway, if you take anything from tonight: stand up slowly, don’t join a cult for moisturizer, and always stay on the beaten path if you need a bathroom. You’ve been great. If you liked me, I’m online. If you didn’t, my name’s actually your ex. Good night!
