So I threw a party this past Friday night. By all accounts, it was a success. People came, they drank, they ate good food, they listened to good music, the talked about everything from politics and religion to what was in the host’s underwear drawer. The host, on the other hand, had a less than stellar time.
Truth be told, I spent most the night filled with nervous anxiety. It was almost as if I expected the other shoe to drop, as if I expected my mom to come home or for my neighbors to call the cops. I’m not going to say I’m too old for this kind of party. But I will say that it had the feel of the sort of party I would have thrown when I was twenty-one, not thirty-one.
Either way, it’s an odd sensation to be the host of a successful party and once feel lest than satisfied with the party you’ve just thrown.
A lot of this, I know, has to two with two things: my being an adult and Portland.
As far as the former is concerned, I had an off week. I had the sort of week where I wrote a rant that I can’t post because it was too personal. I felt like an impostor. A kid in a grown-up body. But when I felt that way, I realized at once that I am a grown up. That I feel like an adult for the first time in my life. And this doesn’t come off as a bad thing to to me. It comes off as the next logical step. I’m suddenly reminded of a conversation I had with my mom when I was sixteen. I was sixteen, full of hormones and angst and depression and all the things that make sixteen year old boys so much fun to be around. And I was talking to my mom and I made the off-hand comment that I’d heard someone say that being young, being in your teens, was the time of your life. And my mom laughed and said that was a crock of shit. That being young sucked. That being a kid was always fraught with turmoil and difficulty and foolishness and was never easy. That I wouldn’t have the time of my life till I was in my twenties and thirties. Which was, of course, wonderful to hear. It was wonderful to know that the best was yet to come.
Thinking about it, she couldn’t have been that much older then than I am now. And it’s heartening to know that she was right. That here I am feeling like an adult, but knowing how much I love my life. That it is a life of my own making. That all the good things in my life are the direct result of my creating them. With all the attendant rights and responsibilities. Things are pretty good. So in that context, a party where I’m feeling anxious about the cops coming seems a little odd.
Maybe I should have had a dinner party.
On the other hand, there’s Portland. There was something about Portland that’s changed me, truth be told. There was something about Portland that makes me feel the need to reevaluate where I’m now in my life. Much of which has been done. It’s been done offline where it should be done, by God. The long and the short of it is that I desire to make my life here in Oakland filled with peace and joy and to be surrounded by beauty and the things and the people that I love. I am done with drama in all its forms.
It’s something simple and easy to express. And requires no further elucidation or analysis.
So I think I just threw the last of the big raging parties that I’m going to throw. I’m glad that it was a success. I’m thrilled that I’ll be going out on a high note. And I can’t wait to throw my next party. I’m sure it will be a small affair with, at the most, a half dozen people. I already know who’s on the guest list, but I’ll have to leave the menu planning till later.