See here’s the thing – I love to go out. I love to dance and drink and wind up eating breakfast at 3 AM laughing over the events of the evening. Problem is that I just can’t do it anymore without having a 2 day recovery period.
I think it happened around 2008. Suddenly Fridays weren’t so much about getting the weekend started as they were about ending the week. I couldn’t wait to be home with my significant other on the sofa, wearing leggings, catching up on bad reality TV and eating Thai food. I was excited to wake up unprompted by an alarm Saturday morning to go to accomplish whatever errand/flea market/farmers market/yoga class/dry cleaning run awaited me. I was an adult! I couldn’t stay out late, I had things to do. Adults went to bed at the same time every night (always remembering to brush their teeth!), woke up at the same time every morning, always did laundry on Sundays and performed the same exercise routine every Monday, Wednesday & Friday at 6:30 AM. I had figured it out, I was on the path!
Until I wasn’t. I was bored. Because as much as I thought I was being regimented and focused, I was also ignoring an entire part of myself. The spontaneous, creative and curious side – the side that loves being the last table in the restaurant when the chef comes out and has a drink with you. The side that didn’t care if the towels were folded, or the dishwasher unloaded. The side that knows that yoga is also at 11, or 1 or 3. Or tomorrow.
And I realized that while every party is not worth attending and every invitation does not deserve a yes, there are some things that though aren’t on my To Do list that need to be done. Like wandering Edgewood Ave at 3:00 AM in search of food, helping a friend reorganize her closet after one too many bottles of wine or having an impromptu dance party with your god children when they are supposed to be in bed. Because that’s what being an adult is about. Getting things done, but having fun doing it. And I’m cool with that.
As long as I have 2 days to recover.