My 15 year old cousin is here from Los Angeles. She hasn’t been back to Chicago in about four years. I remember being a 15 year old girl going to visit my cousin Susana at University in Mexico City and I thought she was so beautiful and so cool. She listened to all of this cool music and had all of these cute friends and would just buy a single cigarette from the kid selling gum on campus and talked about philosophy and how she and her friends were starting a new movement in the art world. I remember looking at her thinking: that’s who I want to be when I grow up.
Last night, we picked up my dog and it was so hot and I paced around my warm apartment trying to think of something that I could do with my cousin that didn’t involve drinking or bars in the neighborhood. We were hungry so we went walking and I showed her the cool architecture and we went into local art galleries I had never been in and I realized how difficult it was for me to relate to her. I took her to Los Comales for authentic Mexican and then we went to this open mic that I’ve only been to a few times and I performed an old poem. The place was packed.
I kept thinking about Susana and me looking up to her thinking about “when I grow up” while sitting there with my fifteen year old cousin I realized this is it. I am grown up.
Took me 26 years to realize it’s no longer when I grow up – it’s now. Am I the person I thought I’d be at 15? Am I doing those things I had dreamed of doing? If not, why not? What stops me?
Sometimes, I’d prefer to be ignorant of that because knowing that you are in complete control of your life just makes you feel all the more responsible for everything you are or aren’t. Choice is a beautiful thing unless you almost always feel bipolar like me. My ambivalence pushes and pulls me in opposing directions laying me stagnant and exhausted on my bedroom floor.
So where to from here?