About Perspective.

Is the glass half full, or half empty? So cliché.  I find myself having the same conversation with many people.  I went to lunch with a friend the other day, and of course the topic of relationships and babies came up.  She told me about how she was starting to question whether she wanted either of those things.  About how she was finally starting to feel comfortable with the idea that maybe it would happen, and maybe it wouldn’t, and she was ok either way.  I can relate.  A couple of weeks ago another friend text me, ‘Do you ever feel like you can no longer relate to your friends who have kids?’  I couldn’t comprehend…’I don’t know, I don’t even think about it.  I’m going to the Grammys on Sunday, so like, I’m ok.’  I’m sure my friends having babies feel like they can’t relate to my life either sometimes. 

The grass is always greener on the other side.  I was at a friend’s wedding a year and half ago, with people I hadn’t seen in years.  Everyone asked the same questions, ‘Are you still living in Wrigley?  What else is new?’  I never have a great answer… yep, five years in Wrigley, single, and pretty much just pretending I’m still 28, while everyone else is getting married, having babies, buying houses, and getting their shit together.  ‘That’s awesome… I see your Facebook posts… we’re all just living vicariously through you.’  Excuse me?  How so?  I don’t get it.  I would much rather be in your situation.   

I’ve been spending a lot of time with my friend Allison and her newborn.  I’m obsessed.  I will just hold him for hours. Watch him sleep, and wait for him to wake-up and wonder what he’s thinking as he stares at me with those big eyes.  I’ll half jokingly tell my friends I just want to be a stay at home dad.  I would be such a good dad.  As much as I love spending time with Simon, I go home at the end of the night.  I do not wake-up at 4am when he needs to be fed.  I’ll ask Allison about being a new mom, and she’ll talk about how happy she is to be a mom, and how much she loves having Simon in her life.  She’ll also openly acknowledge how different things are.  “Yeah, it’s weird, we can’t just pick-up and go out to dinner, or go have drinks with you guys, and we definitely cannot get out of hand like we used to.  We have this responsibility now.”  

Perspective.  We’re always going to be missing out on something.  We are always going to have to give something up.  Neither is right or wrong, or a better fit.  I’m spending the next three months taking weekend trips to New Orleans and LA to visit friends.  I hardly ever turn down an invite to dinner.  I’ll text my friends randomly to go see a movie, and on the weekends I’ll sleep in.  I have zero responsibility to anyone beside myself.  Is that a good thing?  Who knows, but it’s the place I’m in right now.  Maybe that’ll change one day, and I will adapt to that.  I think I’d be happy if I had a kid, or met someone and ended up in a serious relationship.  Life is full of surprises, and I hope that the one thing that always remains is my ability to find happiness regardless of what is going on in my life.  I was unemployed for a year, and some people would probably be filled with anxiety and stress.  I was more like, cool I get to go to the gym during the day, and not be up at 730am every morning.  Perspective.  For me, the grass is greener on whichever side I’m on.  I can’t worry about where everyone else is in life, or what I do or don’t have.  It’s too much effort.  I’d rather work to find the happiness in whichever situation I’m in right now.  I think that’s the right thing to do. 

About this Southside girl I know.

Last night I went to dinner with my friend Jackie.  We went to Chilam Balm in Lakeview.  Tapas, and we ordered far more then we should have.  I love Chilam, and if you haven’t been you need to go.  I’ll go with you.  I’ve known Jackie for fourteen years.  I met Jackie when we both worked at this retail sports store in the south suburbs of Chicago.  We were so young.  I wish I could remember how we became friends… she probably called me an asshole and I was probably like, ‘I think I’m in love.’  Over the years we’ve grown up together, and we’ve became “some-what” adults from those kids who met at nineteen.  We were so dumb. 

One summer we decided to buy tickets to a Cubs/Sox game off of Craigslist.  I don’t know if Stubhub existed, but it was probably too expensive so we went the Craigslist route.  Jackie met me at my parents house, and dressed in our Sox appeal we jumped into my convertible and made our way down to Comiskey Park.  We paid for parking and followed the guys’ instructions.  “Meet me on 35th in front of the park.  I’ll roll down the window and give you guys the tickets and you can give me the money.”  Oh, ok that seems reasonable.  We did the exchange, and made our way to the gate. “I’m sorry sir, these tickets are not working… I think you bought fake tickets.”  “Excuse me? There’s no way… try again.”  I was distraught, however I think Jackie laughed.  She also proceeded to text the guy threatening him. “My family is in the goddamn mafia you fucker… I’ll have them find you if you don’t come return our money. You fucking dick.”  That’s Jackie, and she’s from the Southside and will not take your shit, and I love her for it. 

A few years ago Jackie met her now husband Tim in LA.  I remember her coming home, and telling me she met this guy at a bar in LA and that she really liked him.  Oh, right, he also was Australian, and still lived there.  Now, I’m not always a pessimist, but I was quick to tell her she was being an idiot.  There’s no way this works out.  I was very very very wrong.  After they had been long distance dating for a while she decided to move to Australia.  The night before she left I drove to her house to say bye, and wish her luck, and to remind her I was a phone call a way.  At that time we spent a lot of time together, and I was heartbroken she was leaving.  I took the long way home that night -I needed a minute.  The streets were quiet and empty and when I put on the radio The Cranberries, ‘Dreams,’ was playing.  Music always comes at the right time.

Last night over dinner we caught-up, and it was like no time had passed.  We talked about life, and being 33, and how this was not what we expected.  We talked about the good stuff, and the not so good stuff.  There are no secrets.  We talked about making more of an effort to see each other, and we laughed about the shit that we have been through together over the last fourteen years.  Jackie was my original faux girlfriend.  She was my go-to date for many family parties, and I was hers.  We are such different people now from those kids who met at 19, and shopped at Abercrombie, and drove around endlessly in my convertible thinking we were so cool.   Those 19-year-old versions of us had to remind each other they were going to be ok, and it turns out so did the 33-year-old versions of us.  xo

About the Grammy's...

I started writing this last Monday… it got a little delayed… life…

On a flight back home from LA.  The last twenty-four hours were exhausting.  For as long as I can remember the Grammy’s have been my favorite awards show –it’s music’s biggest night.  When I was kid I was convinced that one day I would host the Grammy’s… shit, maybe I’m still convinced of that.   The summer after I graduated high school my friend and I had tickets to see a concert every other week.  My obsession with seeing music live developed early on.  Last week I bought tickets to see Lady Gaga in San Francisco, because I won’t be able to see her in Chicago.  I have no idea who is going with me, but I bought two tickets assuming I could con someone into going.  Not seeing her wasn’t an option.  Her last album was pure art. I listened to it, and I related to it.  That’s why music is so important to me, because it tells stories –and, if it finds you at the just right moment, it becomes the soundtrack to your story. 

Friday afternoon I was at work, and trying to wind down and figure out how I was going to make it through my busy weekend.  My calendar is full, and I literally committed to being somewhere every second of every day.  Where is my down time?  It doesn’t exist.  I was messaging Amanda earlier in the day when she mentioned, ‘I might have a ticket to the Grammy’s.’  I encouraged her to go.  There’s a chance you’ll never have that offer again.  This might be a once in a lifetime experience.  A short while later she messaged me in a panic, ‘Wait, I have a plus one… do you want to come?’ I hesitated for all of two seconds, ‘YES, of course.’  We left Sunday Morning on a 7am flight to LAX.  We landed at 9am, and went straight to the hotel.  We had just enough time to grab lunch, and for Amanda to get her hair and make-up done before having to head to the Staples Center.  We had tickets to walk the red carpet, but it was chaos trying to find the entrance.  There were people everywhere, and security checkpoints to go through.  We ended up entering to the gates immediately next to the red carpet. 

Our seats were in the upper levels, and still, everyone was dressed formal.  I found that odd.  I don’t know why.  Once the show starts all the vendors shut down.  There is no food or alcohol served, which I also found odd.  I mean, they’re musicians… I just assumed we would walk in to servers handing us glasses of champagne and open bars sponsored by vendors.  Not a chance.   To be in that arena with music’s biggest names, with the people that in 2016 inspired me, or in some way comforted me, or gave me the material I needed to have solo dance parties when no one was looking –it was pretty amazing. We had tickets to the after party next door in the convention center.  The first question everyone asks, ‘Did you meet anyone famous?’ Nah, it was all producers, label people, marketing people, etc.  The drinks were free, the food was good and the space was pretty cool. 

All in all it was a quick, but fun, 48-hour trip.  Many have asked if I would want to go back.  I don’t know if I would.  It was exhausting, and that’s the reason this is just getting posted now.  I did start this on the plane ride home, and then I got distracted… flipping through the movie selections.  Nothing good.  Trying to figure out if the well dressed man across the aisle was gay… he had to be… he ordered red wine, was dressed well, and watching ‘This is Us.’ Finally, I just fell asleep for a while.  Anyway, it was an amazing experience, and I’m so lucky to have been able to attend.  Maybe I’ll hold on to that dream though, and continue to believe that one day I’ll host the Grammys… don’t worry Amanda, you can be my plus one…

About Football...and Other Sports.

My friend sent a group text about getting together to watch the Super Bowl.  Yeah, sure, I like being social so I’ll be there.  Also, Lady Gaga is performing.  I don’t get football or peoples fascination with it.  Most other sports I get, and I’m at least intrigued enough to sit through them.  Not the case with football.  When I was kid the coaches in elementary school tried to recruit me to play.  They suggested it to my dad at this awards dinner we were at.  One of those awards dinner where every kid gets a trophy regardless.  I still laugh at this, because I was so fucking awful at basketball, but like I kept playing for like three years.  I mean, I was really fucking awful.  I imagine if those games were taped they would be hilarious to watch now!  I would just shuffle around just enough to make it appear I was engaged.  I fucking hated it and had zero interest.  I kept playing because afterwards my dad would take me to White Castle and let me order mozzarella sticks.  Seriously.  I think I remember even getting nailed by the ball once because I was zoned out completely.  One time, I had this really great rebound and turned right around and shot a lay-up and got that basketball right in that net.  I remember on that car ride home thinking, ‘Wow, I’m probably really great at this and didn’t know it… maybe I’ll play for the NBA one day.’  Nope… that was definitely a one off. 

Anyway, back to where this started… they tried to recruit me for football and my mom was pretty much like, ‘he’ll get injured and die …no way!’  And I was pretty much like, ‘Yeah mom’s right it’s too dangerous we should listen to her.’  Needless to say we never talked about football again.  In high school, like at most high schools, it was a big deal.  I didn’t only hate football, and going to the games, I hated the rally too.  It all was so obnoxious to me.  I think I went to one game, stayed for like a minute, and then left and drove around the South Side of Chicago listening to Green Day or some shit.  I was not having any of it.  Needless to say, my hatred of football started pretty early on in life.  To this day I cannot tell you the last time I sat through a whole game.  When I was younger my dad would take me to this Super Bowl party that my uncle threw.  My parents never made me do anything I didn’t want to, honestly, they’re saints like that.  So, this is really all self-inflicted.  I would go to the party though because there was unlimited pizza, I got to stay up late, and hang out with my dad.  He would also let me help him pick squares and gamble, and I like those things.  In fact, one time in high school I bet 10 bucks on one of those squares, and wouldn’t you know I fucking won.  Like 150 dollars which was a lot to kid in high school.  I had no clue.  My acting career started in high school when I pretended like I knew all along I had won.  No idea. 

I’m going to go watch this game on Sunday, but let’s be honest, I’m going to sit around and gab with whichever friends are also interested in ignoring the game.  I’ll stop to watch Lady Gaga hoping she makes some sort of statement about Trump.  She probably won’t.  Honestly, I’m struggling to remember who is even playing.  I’m also struggling to understand why tickets are so expensive.  Not just to the Super Bowl, but games in general.  I imagine its cause there aren’t many games throughout the year.  I started writing a blog about Trump, but it was depressing me… so I wrote this instead and I’m happy I did.  This was way more fun.  Also, does any one really care about the commercials any more?  If they’re good I’ll stop to watch those too I suppose…. Go sports #merica’

About the Women's March.

I had an improv show on Friday night.  My friend Ellie was in town and came to see it, and a bunch of us went out for drinks after. The show didn’t end till 11pm, and needless to say I was out later then I should have.  At 11:30pm my friend sent a group text, “Go to bed you two, we have a big day tomorrow.” I looked at it, and thought, ‘Well, that’s not happening.  I’m already here knee deep in a discussion about politics… I’ll be fine in the morning.’  Needless to say I ignored my 8:30am alarm, and finally got myself up about 9am.  I was already running late.  I thought for a second of just pulling the blanket over my head, and texting to say I couldn’t make it.  The thought of showering and getting dressed seemed overwhelming.  I couldn’t cancel.  I knew how much it meant to my friends, and I had promised.  Pull it together, Villa… this a story about the Women’s March on Saturday…

We got into the Loop around 10am, and crowds were beginning to grow.  They initially estimated 20,000 people would be in attendance, and quickly after they doubled that estimation going into the weekend.  We started to make our way toward the holding area, and as we walked through the crowds the thing I noticed was the diversity.  Old people, young people, kids in strollers, gay people, straight people, lesbians, white people, brown people, and everyone else you can imagine.  It has to be the most diverse event I have attended.  People were kind, and patient, and as we moved through the crowd people started to make their way out of the holding area, and then someone informed the crowd, ‘It’s cancelled –the crowd is too big now.  150,000 people are here.’  We started to make our way to Michigan Ave, and as we walked to get out of the area we noticed the crowds were marching anyway.  They came to make a statement –they came to be heard.  We too wanted to be heard, and so we joined them, and marched through the streets of Chicago peacefully.  People made signs, and started chants, and though strangers amongst strangers we were all there as one.

Afterwards, we went to brunch, and TV’s streamed the news coverage, and my social media was flooded with reposted news articles and pictures.  Chicago was one of many cities, at least one march on each continent.  What did we accomplish though? We, as a global community, made a statement this weekend.  We are here, and we have a voice, and we are not ok.  We will not be silent, and we will not be taken for fools.  We will not sit idle, and we will stay vigilant.  Immediately after the election the language changed… we’re going to be ok.  It’s only four years.  There are systems and people that will make sure he doesn’t kill us all. I don’t know if I believe that.  I don’t know if I believe the empire cannot fall.  He was never a successful businessman –he was a fortunate man who came from a wealthy family.  Sure, I’ll give him credit for the branding, and making his name a brand.  However, on his climb to the top he screwed everyone over.  He is a bad person.  Here’s the thing, the people who will suffer most are those that believe he will help them.  America is now Trump Mountain, and he has reached the top, and the mountain will begin to crumble if we are not there to stop it.

I went Saturday to march, and I’m happy I did.  What I do believe is that we have the power and ability to steer the ship.  We are in charge here if we chose to be.  This is the beginning-not the end.  If you haven’t seen Aziz’s open for Saturday Night Live check it out -Aziz got it right.

About Babies.

I went to dinner on Monday with two of my friends, Allison and Aaron.  Allison is incredibly pregnant.  We sat at dinner, and talked about their baby, with a quickly approaching due date. I asked lots of questions… I’m clueless on the subject.  How quickly do you bring him or her home?  So, basically, you have a baby and three days later it’s all your responsibility?  Can you only eat certain foods if your breastfeeding? I was overwhelmed just listening.  Midway through dinner… we ordered another bottle of wine, ‘You realize you’re the first of our group of friends to have a baby?  I’m totally going to be an 'Guncle' to this kid.’  Allison, ‘You’re definitely going to be our kids’ favorite gay uncle.’ The night caught me off guard…. This is a story about why it did and growing up and change…

 I’ve known Allison and Aaron a long time, and in that time, we have certainly had some stories.  There was a two-year period that they rented a house on the river, and had a boat docked on that river.  I’ll refer to this period in my life as the ‘golden years.’  On any given night one of them would send a text, ‘Boat tonight?’  I rarely hesitated, ‘Yep! What time?’  There was always a group of us, and we would have dinner, and afterwards pile onto the boat.  It was a pontoon boat, and we would slowly make our way down the river, travelling through the industrial part of the city, and slowly creeping into the loop.   It’s the craziest thing, to be on that river, and cut the corner near the merchandise mart as the city just engulfs you.  Every trip we brought too much wine, Aaron brought too much Jameson, and collectively we had far too much fun.  How fucking fortunate were we? 

 A little over a year ago, Allison slipped in that her and Aaron were getting married.  Just casually slipped into conversation.  Wait… What?  When? ‘We’re just going to the courthouse, we’re not making it a big deal.’ That didn’t sit well with me.  ‘I’m going to come with.’ I’ll insert myself into situations shamelessly.  I wanted to be there.  I did go with them, and I saw them exchange their vows, and I was happy they were willing to have me there.  Over the years, we have gotten into trouble together, and stayed out too late, and somewhere in between built a private bar, and had too many nightcaps, and Aaron ordered too many shots, and there was the time he got a reality show on Discovery Channel, and most importantly we had the boating years.  They are family, and all these years later we are sitting at dinner talking about babies and those responsibilities. 

 They’re going to be such great parents, and I can’t wait to meet their baby.  I can’t wait to buy him or her annoying toys, and I can’t wait till he or she is walking and I single handedly help them create a mess, and leave at the end of the night knowing that kid had the best time, but Allison and Aaron will hate me! Sorry guys! I always thought I would be so disappointed when my friends got to this point - when our responsibilities changed, but that’s not the case at all.   I’m so happy for them, and having a baby in our little group is going to be cool.  On that note, I need to go buy this kid a welcome to the world present… you’re stuck with the bunch of us.  

About a year ago today.

A year ago, Amy packed up a U-Haul and moved to New Orleans.  Her fiancé is doing his residency there.  I met Amy almost ten years ago.  We worked for the same company, except she was in the Detroit office and I was in Chicago.  We had the same job, and so we worked together often even though she was not in Chicago.  We became friends.  When I left that company she moved to Chicago, and soon after that we became inseparable.  I could tell you countless stories about the shit we went through in this city –the shit that we survived, and maybe I will one day, but this is a story about saying goodbye.  Not to our friendship, of course, but to a period in our lives. 

Amy and I used to be fun.  We wouldn’t let a weekend go by without closing down a 5am bar.  My friends think I’m lying when I say I didn’t realize 5am bars existed before I met Amy, but that’s the truth.  She was the first of my friends that I came out to.  Amy and I had this game we played, we would say we were going to stay in and have a “quiet” night, and hang with the dogs.  Cause you know, we’re adults and can be responsible.  That never happened (and once Four Loco happened… different story though).  On one of those nights, I asked her if she wanted to go out for a nightcap… there was always a nightcap.  Of course she said yes.  We walked down to this gay bar, and we sat at the bar and ordered drinks as anxiety built within me.  She looked at me, “Is this your way of telling me your gay?” She hit me, “You jackass, we could have been coming to fun gay bars this whole time?”  She has always made me feel safe.

Amy moved to New Orleans the first week of January 2016.  I was distraught.  She was, and is, the light. I spent seven years dependent on her friendship.  I was codependent on Amy.  It wasn’t a bad codependent –it was more like a second opinion to make sure I wasn’t fucking things up codependent.  If my life was a game show, ‘Regis, I would like to phone a friend.’ We balanced each other out... And most times we ended up ok, and the times we didn’t the other was there to do damage control.  We had a system worked out –maybe it’s more like a survival plan.

Saying goodbye to her was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.  A year ago around this time I didn’t know how I would survive this city without her.  I didn’t think I was capable.  For over seven years she was always there, and in those seven years she helped shape me.  I am who I am in large part because of her.  I ran my first marathon because of Amy.  I learned to be open and honest and real because of Amy.  I became a better person because of Amy.  She has always encouraged me to be better… she pushed me to be better when she felt I wasn’t giving enough.  She has always supported me… no matter how crazy I was, while always making sure I was still being reasonable.

At the start of this year I felt lost.  I felt abandoned.  A year later I feel different.  I think about all the shit we did.  The things we went through together.  The many nights it was just us sitting at a bar trying to figure out life, and what it all meant.  I learned to appreciate what we had, and how fortunate we were to have each other for all those years.  The type of friendship we have is rare.  Family. I’ll be forever grateful for those years Amy and I got to spend being irresponsible.  It was, for me at least, like college all over again, or maybe the second phase of college.  This time though, we were the teachers and we taught each other.  The lessons were not read from a book… they were experienced.

Over the course of this year I realized I was going to be ok. I still miss Amy daily.  I wish I could I still text her, “this week has been awful… I’ll grab wine and come over,” “Can we go watch movies at the theater in our PJ’s?,” “Let’s just go to Jake’s for one.”  Amy and I survived our twenties, and into our thirties, together, and I’m so thankful we had each other.  The day she left we spent over ten hours packing up that U-Haul, as all the memories flooded through my head.  We are one. As we packed the last of the apartment in the truck we walked through her apartment one last time, and we turned off the lights and walked out.  We reached the end of the story.

Over time some of our stories will fade, and the details will become blurry, and I bet her and I will have contradictory opinions on what happened.  To be honest we already do.  That’s ok though, because at the end of it all… we’ll remember we laughed… a lot.  Most of all, for all those years, in a city like this, we felt safe, and I hope I speak for both of us when I say we felt loved.  We had each other.  I get to see Amy in a week… we will sit at dinner with all our friends, and it’ll feel like it always felt.  Safe and loved.  See ya next week… babe…. xox 

About 2016.

I love New Years Eve.  In my head, it’s the reset button… start again.  Last night was the closing night for my improv show, ‘A Christmas Peril.’  The audience was filled with my friends and family.  Afterwards, we went to dinner in Lincoln Park, and I sat at a table of 20 surrounded by friends and family.  It’s moments like this that I realize how lucky I am.  2016 was a shitty year.  I don’t know anyone that necessarily feels differently.  However, as I thought about this post I decided to not focus on that.  Perspective.  So here we go…

2016 was a growth a year.  I started the year without a job.  My best friend moved to New Orleans.  I was lost.  For the first time in a long time I lost my footing.  I’m not often caught off guard.  At the start of 2016 I was caught off guard.  For the first time, in a long time, I was scared.  What now? I had zero direction.  I spent 2016 trying to find myself again.  Who am I?  What’s next?  It was a rebuilding year.  I was fortunate though, because despite the state of my life I was thing was consistent.  I was always surrounded by good people.  I have guidance.  The day of my birthday my friend posted on Facebook, “It takes a village to raise a Henry.”  That is the truth.  That was especially true for this year.  I needed so many distractions this year.  I needed to be around people that I could laugh with.

I could yammer on about how shitty this year was, and how some things didn’t work out, and the disappointment in that.  But why bother?  No one cares, and 2016 wasn’t all bad.  I got a new job, and I actually like it most of the time.  I gained new friends, and became better friends with others.  I got to do improv shows with my friends.  I helped my friends plan their wedding, which was surprisingly really fun for me.  I feel like 2016 made me a better and smarter person.  In 2016 I finally created this blog.  It was always in the back of mind… be unapologetically honest and see what happens. 

I rented a space @ Schuba’s tonight.  A tradition my cousin had years ago.  I’ll just take that over now.  For the second night in a row I’ll get to spend the evening with friends and family.  I made the playlist for tonight –lot’s of Bowie, Prince and George Michael.  I’ll watch the time count down to midnight, and in my head I’ll shake the Etch-A-Sketch and start again.  Anyway, if you’re bored tonight stop by Schuba’s, and regardless of what you do tonight, have a great and safe New Years Eve.  I can’t wait to see what 2017 brings us… x

33.

I woke up 33 today.  Last night I had dinner with friends, and we said it would be a quiet night.  After too many bottles of wine, ‘Well, where to next?” You should never ask me that question, “Well, I turn 33 at midnight, we could go to Jakes.”  “Jakes only seems appropriate…” Needless to say I woke up a little late today, to Facebook notifications, and a phone flooded with kind texts and missed calls.  Here’s how I feel about 33…

I never planned past 30.  When I was in my twenties I gave myself goals.  I knew what I wanted to get out of my twenties.  I wanted to have a career –I wanted to feel like I was on a path and that I at least felt like I was successful.  I wanted to live in the city and experience everything that makes this city so special.  I wanted it to feel like home.  I wanted to have a diverse group of people around me.  I wanted to be around people that would challenge me, and inspire me, and help me grow. Above all, I wanted to have stories to tell.  I didn’t want to ever look back on my twenties and feel like I didn’t do enough.  I did enough.  I accomplished all these things.  I was terrified to turn 30 because I didn’t know what the next chapter was.

My friends said your thirties are your best years, and they were right.  What do I want though for this period of my life, because I know one day I’ll wake up, and I’ll be like… ‘Fuck, I’m 40… now what?’  I haven’t travelled as much as I would like.  I want to finish what I started.  I want to travel more.  I want to work on the things that I’m really passionate about.  I want to write more, and I want to continue doing improv.  I need to find an adult apartment –although I do love my frat pad.  I swear this apartment needs to be the set of a sitcom one day.  In my thirties I want to be healthier.  I need to stop smoking.  I want to be better at my job –I’m not bad at my job, but I know I can be better.  I can push myself.  I want to start a t-shirt line.  I don’t know why, but I do.  It’s in the works.  By 40 I want to work for myself.  I want to find a way to support myself doing something I love –it can’t feel like ‘work’ forever.  These are tangible things.  These aren’t things I’ll tell myself I want to do.. these are things I will do. 

I’m not terrified any more.  My thirties are good.  My horoscope today was the following…

If You Were Born Today, December 22:

You are an emotional person who is very connected to your past. You are exceptionally giving and supportive, sometimes to the point of martyrdom! You have to try not to feel resentful for all that you do for others by keeping this trait in balance. You would make an excellent counselor. Your love life is likely very changeful. You are extremely hard-working and few can do the job as well as you. Sometimes you are impatient with others who don’t seem to have the same work ethic as you, but you must understand that few do! You can be a perfectionist. You are a wonderful combination of conservative and creative or inspired.

This year is a period of constructive accomplishment. You are practical and realistic, and your judgment is especially sound. You also derive much satisfaction from practical achievement. It would behoove you to identify and focus on finding pleasure in the simple things that make you happy.

Your passions and enthusiasm run high, and the trick is to channel this extra energy constructively, which is easier than usual. In fact, you possess more self-discipline than usual. The period ahead is one of greater self-understanding, enterprise, and engaging projects. You easily find extra energy to pour into your pursuits, although you may be placing a lot of pressure on yourself to succeed at times this year. Pacing yourself will be important to stay healthy and happy. Business and ideas are both practical and innovative.

If you know me at all, and I’m guessing you do.  All of that is true.  I don’t know how much to read into horoscopes, but if it is true… well, it’ll be an interesting year.   Tonight, my friends are having a small group of us over for dinner.  We’ll have wine, and we’ll laugh, and I’ll look around that table and be grateful that I am here… at 33…. With so much left to do… 

Thanks.

It’s that time of year.  All the holiday parties are happening, and added to that I know a lot of December birthdays.  Including my own.  Needless to say, this past weekend I threw myself a birthday party.  I’ve done this party every year for the last eight, I believe.  It’s so dumb.  Who throws a birthday party for themselves for turning 33?  I do.  I make myself feel better about it by sprinkling in some Christmas music and saying it’s also a “holiday party.”  Don’t be fooled… it’s not.  I just like to pretend I’m not one of those people that cares about birthdays.  Don’t be fooled… I do.  Admitting you have a problem is the first step? I also just like any reason to convince all my friends to hang out with me.  Really, that should read pressure them to hang out with me. 

The first birthday party I threw for myself was all those years ago on University Lane when I moved into my first apartment.  I don’t remember the details in their entirety, but I’m sure my sister was pouring shots, Dan probably went to pick up pizza at 2am, and Christy was probably lighting shit on fire.  No one has become more mature since.  I’m ok with that. 

Every year I stand in a room full of people and I think about how lucky I am.  These people that I’m fortunate enough to call my family and friends, and these people that always show up.   The week before Christmas, the weather is always awful, and yet so many show up.  This group of really diverse, smart, kind, and funny people that I’m so lucky to have in my life.  My friend Kayla even came in drag.  I asked her to show-up in drag, at first she thought I was kidding. I wasn’t.  I can barely muster up the straight to not look homeless on a daily bases, so I can really appreciate her taking the time to show-up in drag.  All of these people with different stories, and different backgrounds and I have been fortunate enough to have them all in my life. 

Anyway, I say all this to say thanks.  Thank you to everyone that showed up.  I know some couldn’t make it, and that’s ok too.  Next year.  Because, you know, everyone celebrates turning 34 too.  Regardless, ahead of the holiday season, every year it’s a good reminder to me of how grateful I am for all of you.  We live in this messy, sometimes fucked up world, and yet we all found each other.  That’s a really crazy thing for me to sometimes grasp.  Not only that we found each other, but that over time we have built these friendships, and we’ve shared stories, and given each other advice, and we have grown together.  I am a better person because of those experiences that we have shared together.   My birthday wasn’t even this weekend, but on Thursday I turn 33.   I’ll think about all the things I’ve accomplished, and probably a lot about the things I haven’t accomplished, and at some point I’ll remind myself…  Henry, you’re ok, and you have all these people that really care about you. You are going to be just fine… Thanks again… with love… henry.

Balance.

In a cab ride last weekend, ‘I don’t know, I just don’t understand how people become so consumed with their relationships they stop seeing and talking to their friends. I just could never be that person.’  Let me be very clear before I dive into this, I am not being critical when I say that.  I believe you have to do what’s best for you and your relationship, and I can respect you for that.  Do what feels right.  What I am saying, is that I literally can’t wrap my head around how one does that.  I am not capable.  I cannot, and will not, abandon the ship.  This is the reason why…

I hate being alone.  I need people around me.  Strangers will do.  When I can’t find anyone to hang out with me I’ll joke that I have no friends.  That could not be further from the truth.  I have a lot of friends.  In fact, often times it’s difficult to find time to see all of them. My social calendar is a mess.  I like it that way. 

Monday morning, I text my friends last minute, asking if they would dog sit for me while I’m away for work.  Without any hesitation they responded yes.  A few years back the electricity went out in my apartment, and I was at home with Billie.  I called my friend Allison, ‘the electricity is out and I don’t know what to do.’  ‘Ok, just come over we’re just home watching TV. Stay as long as you need to.’ When I lived in the suburbs for a year I basically lived on Amy’s couch –she only complained once and it was a fair complaint.  My friends and I are like a small tribe, and we all do our part to make our group a little better.  

I’ll call Amy on a Monday morning, ‘Wait, get this… I’m the absolute worst.’  She will listen, and she will remind me I’m fine.  She will tell me, ‘Eh it’s a learning experience, babe, it’s fine.’  I will believe her, whether it’s true or not.  My friend Amanda came by last week, we had a few, “this is our last glass of wine,” moments, before finally opening up the shitty bottle.  That wine was so shitty it really was our last glass.  I told her a story followed by, ‘I really shouldn’t have done that.’  She laughed, ‘well, probably not, but what are you going to do now.’  She reminded me it wasn’t really my problem, and I wasn’t necessarily in the wrong.  Perspective.  Over the weekend I was chatting about my improv show last week, and my friend reminded me I’m being coy when I try to not acknowledge how much I love improv and writing.  I reminded her I was turning 33 in a few weeks.  The ship has sailed.  ‘You’re not that old Henry, I was your age when I moved to Chicago with no friends or family here. It’s not to late for you. Find what you love and do it.’

This is why I can’t abandon the ship.  I cannot walk away.  I will not find one person that could replace all the other people in my life.  That is not possible.  I will never be that person that starts dating someone and just dips out on everyone else, or stops showing up. I need my friends to remind me of who I am when I am lost. I need to know, that if I fall apart someone who knows how to put me back together will be there. Although, maybe I’m wrong and I’ll just be single forever… but like, all my weekends for December are already really busy with birthday and holiday parties, and I’m going to all of them. On the bright side, if you want to date me you get to meet some really great people. 

Thirsty.

I don’t know how to date, or so I’m told.  Last week I asked my friend to grab a drink. He replied, ‘I can’t I have a date.’  Of course I need to know everything -with who?  What are you guys going to do?  What time? How did you meet? ‘You don’t know him.  Going to get drinks in Boystown.’  I had to phone a friend… is getting drinks in a loud gay bar considered a date? ‘Yeah, that’s the new thing.’  Wait… doesn’t anyone ask someone out to dinner or something?  ‘No, if you do that now it looks thirsty.’ Wait, what?  When did that happen?  I missed the memo.  Listen, I’m not against just getting a drink, but like at a busy gay bar seems a bit much.  Of course, my immediate thought was, I always ask if someone wants to get dinner for a first date.  Oh my god do I look like a weirdo?

Maybe I’m not good at dating.  I’m not the let’s grab a drink a guy.  I’m the let’s grab dinner, or go to the zoo, or go to a comedy show or to see a band kind of guy.  At some point though, this became too much, I guess.  I feel like I’m terrible at first dates anyway.  I talk too much.  I ask too many questions.  Those things can’t be accomplished at a loud bar.  If I go out with someone, some thing about you genuinely interested me.  I want to know you’re story.  I want to be in an environment that’s conducive to accomplishing that.   

I feel like I should start handing out surveys at the end of first dates.  On a scale of one to ten… How was your experience? Would you recommend this tour to a friend?  How likely are you to return?  Dating is exhausting, which is why I don’t do it often.  I can tell quickly if someone is worth the effort.  I know what I need.  I know if it’s a match.  I have a type.  Less about looks, and more about personality and life experiences.  I can tell if there’s a chance we will work.  I vet pretty thoroughly.  Except there was this one time I went out with someone and I’m SURE he was on drugs.  Blank stares all night.  Ok, and no joke, I wrote this on a flight home, and after I landed I turned on my phone and just guess who messaged me on Tinder.  What are the odds?  His profile reads, “I’m a very unique person.”  To say the least…

Anyway, the moral of this story is, I’m going to continue to operate the same way.  I will not change.  Call it old fashioned?  I’ll never consider going to a crowded bar in Boystown a date, or any crowded bar for that matter.  I guess I’m going to just stay a weirdo.  I’ll continue to ask for dinner, or coffee, even at the risk of looking “thirsty.”  I’ll leave you with this, I have a super cute list of fun date ideas and restaurants in Chicago.  Send your boyfriend/girlfriend or husband/wife to me and I’ll share that list with them.  You’ll thank me later.

Almost ten years later.

Last week, I walked into the lobby of the building I walked into almost ten years ago.  I was 23, and I was interviewing for my first full-time job post college graduation.  It was January, it was freezing out, and I was still sweating profusely.  I’m sure I was dressed in some poor fitting suit –a kid trying to play a grown-up, with my resume in a folder, and notepad and a pen.  My list of questions written out –always ask questions at the end of your interview.  I checked in with security, and went up to the 22nd floor, and walked through the same doors I walked into for the first time all those years ago.  The office looks different, but it’s the same people… and most importantly, it feels the same.  This is a story about where it all started, for me…

I was 23 and fresh out of college.  I had worked a few internships, and I had jobs all through college in retail, but this was different.  It was my first real job, with a consistent paycheck, health insurance, and essentially the first time I felt like an adult.  The first time I worked in an environment in which I was treated like an adult. When I started that job I had no idea what to expect.  I was a communications major, and I knew nothing about advertising sales, but they hired me anyway.  They took a chance on me.  I’m a quick learner, and before you knew it I was moving without training wheels. 

I often times think about that job, and what it gave me at 23.  A couple of weeks after I started I was sitting at my desk working on an account that was a fucking nightmare, and that’s being generous.  I was e-mailing back and forth with the client, and at one point the email I wrote came off with a little too much attitude.  My co-worker shot out of her office, ‘I just saw your e-mail.  I know this is frustrating, and it’s late, but you can’t send e-mails like that.  They have a lot of options on where they can spend their money.’  Nine years later… customer service is key.  It stuck.  I never again shot off an email like that.  This job set the groundwork for who I became, and how I developed.  Through the years this team, that I left a long time ago, has continued to be supportive.

I’ve been fortunate.  I’ve always worked for, and with, great people, and they’ve helped me develop and grow.  They have been honest with me, and that has made me a better person professionally.  Many of the people I’ve worked with have become friends, and so they have helped me grow personally as well.  Just yesterday, a Facebook status from years ago popped up, and I knew immediately who said it.  I had flash backs to sitting in a cubicle having a shitty day, but still finding a reason to laugh.  There’s always a reason to laugh.  If you’re lucky, like I’ve been, you find some great people to laugh with…

Improv.

I wanted to take improv classes for a while.  I didn’t have the guts to do it.  In June of 2015 I looked at Second City’s website to see what the schedule looked like. I decided the Friday evening classes made sense.  I did not sign-up.  When the first day of class came around, I told myself I would just show up, sign-up day of, and see if it was a fit.  I went to work that day, and I almost convinced myself not to do it, but I had already told friends I was going to. It was too late to back out –I am not the person to not live up to doing the things I say I will do.  I couldn’t back out.  At 5:30pm I left my office, and headed to Second City.  I have been doing improv ever since. 

When I was a kid, my cousins and I would put these variety shows together for our parents.  We would design sets and we would assign people roles.  We would create these shows, and as the older ones I just remember giving our selves the best roles.  We looked at our younger siblings and cousins, ‘Ok, you can be the camera person.’  I would stay up late and watch The Tonight Show and repeat Jay Leno’s jokes, or make up my own stupid kid jokes and tell them to my family members when we were together.  Even as a kid I wanted to make people laugh.  I remember one time I nailed this stupid joke, and my aunt laughed so hard and said, ‘Oh you’re going to be the next Jay Leno.’  Ok, she was clearly wrong, but the point is, I believed her.  From a very early age I thought I could be funny… I can make you laugh.  I guess even as I child I abided by the rule, if you think you can, then you can. 

When I lost my job last year I thought I would really devote myself to improv and writing, and see where the path led.  The world of improv is so crowded.  There are so many performers.  It’s over saturated.  I’m not that great at it –I’m just surrounded by great performers.  I didn’t want to be a starving artist, but I wanted to continue to perform for fun.  That’s what I’m doing these days.

I finished the first part of the Second City improv program in May of this year.  We have done a few shows since.  The last two months we have been putting together a new show, based on a murder mystery at a Christmas party.  I know, it sounds weird, but trust me it works.  The format is interesting, and the cast is good.  Friday is opening night, as a string of texts go back and forth on my phone about memorizing lines and rehearsals.  I am underprepared as usual.  I have five lines, maybe less, and only one of those lines memorized.  Probably best I stuck to my day job.

Anyway, if you want to come see the show, the link is below for tickets.  Friday night is sold out, and so is the second show, but come December 30th!  Again, I’m not that great, but my friends are amazing.  They make me laugh when they’re on stage, but also just in real life.   I’ll keep trucking along here, watching them grow, hoping one day just to be in their entourage… guys, I’m so fun to hang out with and I’ll help you seal all those endorsement deals! Promise! 

http://www.secondcity.com/shows/chicago/a-christmas-peril/

About Traveling.

I realized this week my passport has two stamps.  I had to get a new one two years ago when I went to Australia.  I haven’t travelled much since I got it.  My old passport was filled.  When I graduated high school in 2002 my parents gave me some money they had saved up for me, ‘You can do whatever you want with this money.’  I was 18 and I had never left the country, so I’m not really sure why I wanted to travel, but I did.  Between 18 and 30 I had been to Europe twice, South America, and Central America. I am obsessed with traveling.  When I turned 30 my mom said her and I could take a trip together and asked where I would want to go. ‘South Africa.’  She looked me in the eye. ‘No. Pick again.’  She isn’t as adventurous as I am, ‘Ok, fine.  Australia.’  She agreed, and off we went.

 I’m easy to travel with, but not the best tourist.  I’ve been to Paris twice and have never gone up to the top of the Eiffel Tower.  I would rather sit in the park eating gelato watching parents play with their kids.  I’ll wander down random streets, and into little boutiques and eat food off street vendors.  I’ll be annoyed with long lines and be disinterested in seeing tourist attractions.  I’ll snap a picture of Notre Dame, and then I’ll move on.  In Australia I spent a day in Melbourne walking around taking in street art.  

 I was in Barcelona with Amanda, and the Gaudi’s Sagrada Familia church was too far from where we were staying.  I was not interested in the hassle of going to see it.  Instead we walked into this church that was on the verge of collapse.  It looked unsafe.  ‘Let’s check this out.’  We walked in, and realized they still held regular services.  We lit candles and as we were getting ready to leave noticed a gentleman standing in a corner, as we walked past he asked if we wanted to go to the roof of the church.  We made it to the roof, and there was all of Barcelona.  We were up there, with two other people, and there right in front of us was this beautiful city.  That was one of the best experiences I had in Barcelona. 

 This last week in Cabo, I made all the friends.  I went to the bar by myself, and as I scanned the crowd I noticed these two girls.  They looked like the type of girls I would be friends with.  I went up to them, and introduced myself… my desperate plea… be friends with me I think we’ll get along.  I was right. The last day they were there I ran into them at breakfast.  We talked about the last two nights we spent together, about them coming to Chicago and me coming to Dallas.  I have no boundaries when it comes to people.  I will walk right up to you in a different country and I will try to convince you I’m not a creep.  I want to be friends. 

 I love traveling.  I want to see the world.  I want to experience it.  In the movie ‘Lost in Translation,’ there’s a line toward the end, and Scarlet Johansson’s says, ‘Let’s never come here again because it could never be as much fun.’  That’s what traveling is for me, about those experiences you share with someone else.  They cannot be replicated.  I’m sure I’ve made myself sound super appealing to travel with, but if you want to sit in parks, and venture off the beaten path, and meet random people that I’ll try to convince to be friends with me than you should reach out.  I need a travel buddy…  Asia and Africa are on my to do list. 

With Thanks.

It’s Thanksgiving today, and I’m on a flight back to Chicago from Cabo, Mexico.  I spent a week there with my family.  In June or July my mom asked my sister and I if it would be a good idea to go on a family vacation since my dad was turning 60 this year.  A fully paid all-inclusive vacation?  Why would you even ask?  We obviously agreed it was a great idea.  That trip finally came to fruition this week.  Today, I scanned Facebook, and everyone is posting about what they’re thankful for… family, friends, dogs, and the list can go on and on.  I’m thankful for all those things too, but I’m also really thankful for this week with my parents.  This is a story about my parents…

I had a realization this last week while we were in Cabo.  My dad is starting to look more like my grandfather, and my mom like her mother.  We are all getting older, except, I do not feel older.  I do not feel like an adult.  I have this conversation a lot with my friends, and I can willfully acknowledge how much I still depend on my parents at 32 going on 33.  Back in August, I got a flat tire as I was leaving my parents house, ’Dad, what do I do?’ ‘Well, you can just put the spare on and then take it somewhere in the morning.’  Silence.  My dad recognizing that was not the same idea I had, ‘Or you could leave the car with us, and I’ll take it to get fixed in the morning.  Just take my car tonight.’  I am helpless sometimes.  I should not be this way at 32.

I’m not the best son.  My mom will remind me of that.  I don’t call enough; I don’t make time to visit.  I seem distant sometimes.  She becomes concerned.  She knows when something is wrong –always.  She’ll call, ‘Is everything ok?’  She will calm me down, unknowingly.  She will tell me everything is going to be ok.  I believe her.  A few months ago I was going through a lot –I would call her, and she would listen, and offer advice when she felt appropriate.  She would assure me, ‘this is just a phase.  It isn’t the rest of your life.’  Her and I have a connection. 

This week in Cabo, my 60 year old father went tubing and parasailing, and my mother who doesn’t know how to swim and is terrified of large bodies of water went on more boats then she’s probably been on her entire life.   I was proud of them.  I’m really lucky to have them around.  I know that not everyone is that fortunate.  Not only do I have them around, but they want to be involved.  They care.  They want to spend time with their kids, and they still want to help.  I see them with new eyes these days though –they’re getting older.  They’re slowing down, and I have to recognize that.  I was complaining about something a few weeks ago to a friend, ‘Henry, you’re so lucky to have such great parents.  Stop complaining.  I would give anything for one more day with my parents.’  She is right. 

So, I’m thankful for this week.  I’m thankful I had the opportunity to spend a week with them.  I’m thankful they are still here.  I’m thankful they are still so willing to be active. They haven’t given up.  They want to keep up.  I’m thankful they have always been there –they have dealt with my shit.  They are good people, and their only goal in life has been to give their children a life better then the one they knew.  They have accomplished that… and for that I am thankful.  I’m unsure if my mother has found this little project of mine –I know my dad hasn’t, he’s just really concerned with Snapchat right now.  If she has though… thank you two for this week.  I’ll try to call more, and I’ll try to be present.  I know I’m all over the place, but I’m here… always.  Hope everyone had a great day.  With love and gratitude from somewhere above America….

Kids.

I’m on vacation with my family this week.  We’re staying at this resort, which surprisingly isn’t overwhelming in the kinds of groups that are here.  It’s a mix of families, older couples, younger couples and thankfully not too many trashy American tourists.  However, there was someone walking around with a hat that read, ‘I Love Titties and Beer.’  I hate him.  Not the point though… last night we went to see the nightly show they do here.  We got there a little early and they were doing the kids portion of the show.  I sat down at the table my parents were at.  I ordered a drink, and just as the waiter walked away this little kid came and stood right next to me.  He stared at me, and I couldn’t help but laugh as he looked at me with this confused look on his face.  He stood there for a while, and after a few minutes this guy in front of us asked if I wanted their extra tickets for him.  They thought he was my son. 

Today we went to the beach a little further away from where we are staying.  The folks there seemed like locals.  Parents with their kids –holding on to them as they moved through the ocean.  These little people so enthralled in the world around them.  I’m really good with kids.  I’m a good babysitter.  I used to babysit for my cousin, and every time I would leave I would think, ‘I could do this. I could totally be a good dad.’  I never really thought about being a parent in my 20s.  I honestly wasn’t great at managing my own life, let alone a child’s.  In my 20s I thought about how great it would be to just have a life filled with friends and family, and travelling, and building a successful career.  I wanted to be Oprah.  Ok… before anyone says you can do all those things… you’re wrong.  You can’t do them to the same degree when you have a child. You have to give-up some things. You have to sacrifice.  It’s just reality.

My 30s have made me a different person.  I no longer want to be Oprah.  The day of the Cubs parade I went to lunch with my neighbor and her newborn son.  Toward the end of dinner I offered to hold him.  He had that smell all newborns have.  He didn’t fuss too much, and at the end of lunch as I handed him back to his mom I couldn’t help but think, ‘I want a baby.’  I want to be a dad one day.  I’m not ready right now, and I don’t know if I want to do it alone, but I could if I had to.  I keep telling people I’m going to adopt, and it’s the same response every time… right, you’re just going to change your life completely and go from having social obligations every night to having to take care of a child… you barely even take care of your dog –she’s with your parents more often then she’s with you.   They’re right.  It seems ridiculous –perhaps unfeasible.  However, as I grow into my 30s it seems more and more appealing. I spent this week with my parents.  I see them getting older.  If I did have a kid(s) I couldn’t do it without their help.  It takes a village. 

This is a random post.  I realize that.  Something about being here this week, with all these families.  Young parents with their kids.  I could be that one day, or at least I hope.  I’d be a good a dad.  Maybe that’s my new 10-year plan. 

This Is Not My Problem.

I text a friend on Monday, ‘Do you have five minutes to chat?’  He called me two minutes later.  I have a problem.  I insert myself into situations I shouldn’t.  I get overly involved.  I need people to talk me down. ‘Henry, don’t get involved.  This is not your issue.’  You have to let people work it out.  I’m not sure where this stems from, or why I care, but I do.  I take responsibility for things or situations that are not my responsibility.   I have no idea where this compulsion comes from.  It’s a problem.  When others would run –I will stay. In fact, I’ll jump right into the deep end of the pool.  I’m not a therapist or life coach… I just play one on TV.  That’s what I feel like.  There’s a line though, and I’m blind to it.

Friday night, another one of my friends posted something on social media.  I was caught off guard.  Why would you post that?  What would make you think that’s ok?  It’s completely inappropriate.  You’re better then that.  I saw him out, and yelled, ‘Take it down right now.’  He refused, but deleted the next morning, then proceeded to repost it the next night.  Again, I flew into parent mode… I had to remind myself, ‘Henry, this is not yours to fix.’  My friend leaned over, ‘This is just who he is, he’s not going to change you have to let it go.’ He was right.  I have to let things go.

I’m learning to get involved less, or at least I’m trying to.  I’m sure I make decisions on a daily basis that people don’t agree with.  They won’t change me, and I probably won’t change anyone else.  Life isn’t based on a screenplay –I can’t change the story or the characters.  It’ll play itself out the way it’s supposed to.  I need to learn to be in the audience –sit there, and shut up.  The thing is, this all stems from a good place.  I want to help.  I want to be a good friend.  Just because I think something is the right thing to do though doesn’t make it so.  People have to be in charge of their own destinies.  They have to be allowed the opportunity to decide not only who they want to be in the world, but also how they want to be perceived.  If you’re a good friend, you’ll accept them for who they are regardless of the things they do.    

I interrupt things based on my experiences, but the fact is that life is different for everyone.  I asked my friend, ‘So, I should keep my mouth shut?  I’ll stay out of it.’ I am not the messenger, nor should I try to be.  I’m sure this is something I’ll continue to struggle with.  Look on the bright side though, if you’re ever in a crisis I will be there.  I will want to help.  I will listen, and I’ll offer advice -probably too much advice.  Inside my head I’ll be thinking –we can fix this, but really I’ll be thinking, ‘How can I fix this?’  Let’s be honest, I have my own shit to figure out… maybe I should be focusing on that.  

About Forgiveness.

I stopped by DePaul today.  I graduated college in 2006.  Ten years ago.  Everyone on campus looks so young, and ten years later I look like either the cool professor, or the guy that just never wants to grow up.  I stopped in to visit my friend Rikki who still works there.  I met Rikki 14 years ago when I was a freshman and had an internship in the graduate admissions department.  I was 19, and they stuck me in the closet, called it an office, and had me stuffing envelopes.  I eventually got out of all the closets I was in.  That first day Rikki stuck her head in, ‘Who are you?’  Um, I’m 19, hating this job, and socially awkward, however, I just replied with, ‘Hi, I’m Henry.’  We have been friends ever since.  This isn’t another story about friendship.  This is a story about forgiveness…

Our friend Kim got married in 2009, and Rikki and myself had both been invited.  At that same time Rikki was going through a divorce.  She had just moved back from Vegas for a job, and when things were seemingly well it all fell apart.  Life does that sometimes, and it sucks.  As the wedding neared Rikki reached out, ‘I am not going to the reception, but I want to be at the ceremony.  I need you there for emotional support.  Please come.’  I said I would.  When Kim’s wedding day came I woke up late, I went for a run, and before you knew it I lost track of time.  I didn’t make it to the ceremony.  Rikki sent me a lengthy text –she was upset with me, and understandably so. I never even replied to the text. I was 26… I was irresponsible and insensitive, and I owed her better then just ignoring that text. 

Rikki and I didn’t talk for two years. She’s stubborn, and in this case she was right to be.  Two years later our friend Ed got engaged and I knew she would be at the wedding.  I was two years older, and I knew better… I knew I had to apologize for that 26-year-old version of me that was an insensitive jerk.  I sent Rikki the below e-mail on July 15th, 2011…

“OK, I was going to send flowers. Life, It gets in the way. You'll be at Eds tonight and I don't want it to be awkward. I wanted to say sorry. Two years ago, I wasn't equipped to deal with the anger, so I didn’t. Emotionally insensitive boy, I know.  You know at one time it was always you and I…I miss that. And maybe I burned that bridge, but I wanted you to know I never stopped loving you. I think about you often.  I remember when you left for Vegas…Crushed. Cause you got me, and I got you.
Here we are two years later… silence. I just didn’t want you to hate me tonight, cause I am sorry that things went the way they did…my fault.  Just a kid trying to not deal with the disappoint I inflicted.

Love you.  I hope we some how find a way to grow past” 

Rikki did forgive me, and that wedding was a lot of fun. I still try to see Rikki as often as possible.  Adult life is busy.  The point of this story is that Rikki forgave me.  If I had I reached out right after she would have forgiven me than.  We wouldn’t have wasted two years not talking.  I regret not apologizing earlier.  She’s one of my oldest friends –she knows my story.  I see her and she doesn’t see me.  She see’s over ten years of me –she has seen me grow from that awkward kid sitting in a closet to who I am today.  I can still be awkward some times, but no closets involved.  We have a story.

 Friendships take work, and I believe a big part of that is forgiveness.  We’re going to screw up along the way, and we’re going to make mistakes, but, in the same way we have to learn to forgive ourselves, we have to forgive others as well. I can’t even begin to tell you the amount of stupid shit I have done that my friends have forgiven me for.  All I know, is that years down the road, I want to know that those people are still there.  The people that can see the whole picture.  We’ll all continue to grow, and we’ll meet new people along the way… but history books are important for a reason.  They’ll be the ones that remind us not to repeat the same mistakes.  They’ll remind us of who we used to be.  Most importantly, they’ll remind me us of the stories that no one else will understand, and that’s a secret language worth holding on to.

A Story About Connecting.

Last week my friend Michelle spent a night at my apartment.  She was here for work.  I hadn’t seen Michelle in a few years, but it was like we hadn’t spent a day apart.  I’m sure everyone has those friends –you don’t talk often, but when you have the chance to reconnect it’s like nothings changed.  Michelle and I used to wok together 10+ years ago.  At the time she was living in NYC, and I was the fresh out of college assistant that picked up the phone when the important people couldn’t.  We didn’t even work together really, I was on the TV side of the business and she was on the digital side.  She would call to talk to someone who wasn’t available, and we would slip into some random conversation.  We clicked. 

I know right away.  I can meet you, and after that initial conversation I can tell if we’ll be friends.  I have a good judge of character.  The second time I went to NYC I stayed with Michelle.  Outside of one or two times meeting via work functions we hadn’t psychically been in the same city.  I’m sure people thought it was strange… you’re basically staying with a stranger.  I wasn’t though.  Michelle and I were connected, and I knew that right away.  I was right.  Our friendship has grown over the years.  One year we spent New Years Eve in Austin.  We woke up News Years Day, Michelle asked, ‘Would you judge me if I called downstairs to see if they’ll deliver breakfast and mimosas?’  ‘Only if we can lay in bed and watch Dawson’s Creek or something.’  We will always be friends. 

I’m sure I frighten people at how forward I am.  A couple of months ago, in my friends backyard, I was introduced to this girl.  She was kind of related to my friend.. cousin in-law or something of that nature.  I love meeting new people.  I love learning about their life and their experiences.  She works in sales, and she just moved to Chicago.  At one point she pulled me to the side, ‘next time you want to smoke let’s go out front… I don’t smoke in front of the kids.’  We chatted out front about her life –living in Asia as teenager.  At some point I felt the click.  We’re going to be friends.  Later in the night, ‘I hope you know we are going to be best friends.’ I’ve saw the look she gave me… it’s a weird thing to say to someone.  I get it.  I knew though –and I was right. 

I don’t know why I know, but I do.  I trust my gut feeling when it comes to meeting people.  It’s the same with dating… I can tell after one date.  That leads to a lot of first dates, and not a lot of seconds.  My friends will say I don’t give people a chance, that’s probably true.  It’s the right thing for me though.  I can sit across from someone, have a cup of coffee or a glass of wine… I’ll know.  I'll wait for the click.  It'll come, or it won't.  Also, this reminds me… I need to buy a plane ticket to LA for Michelle’s birthday party in March.