There’s something about being in the state where you learned how to ride a bike in a schoolyard and had your first kiss in a car passed down by someone’s grandpa and got reprimanded by your dad while learning how to drive that makes wandering down memory lane a kind of tempting fruit.
Not that I need much urging to do so. I regularly boast of my inclination to reading old journal entries and driving through old neighborhoods just to feel something. And yet for some reason I was still taken aback the other night when, while merging onto the 110 freeway, I became nostalgic for a version of myself that was more naive, less lucky in love, and often found the balance of her checking account teetering on the edge of zero. These were the years during which who I became who I am. When I’d drive an hour in traffic to my summer internship in the Arts District that paid me $125 a month, or spend the night at Harlow’s apartment in Los Feliz, or meet up with Leah at the Arclight in Hollywood after work to watch Mid 90s in a theater packed full of skater boys.
I was scrolling through old Instagram posts this morning, reminiscing on some of these moments, in awe of how much I Loved Life during those years. My Instagram is full of smiling photos and captions with exclamation points. I wore lots of red. I always had a touch of Glossier’s cloud paint smeared across my cheeks.
I know, because I am me, that these times were not always the best behind closed doors. I hated school. I was always wallowing over Some Boy. I was constantly fighting with my parents about my belief in God or lack thereof. I wanted nothing more than to be what I am now: a bad bitch with a septum piercing and a good job who lives in New York. It was my personality. I had a Pinterest board full of decor inspo for the exposed-brick apartment I would some day live in. For the longest time I carried a MetroCard in the back of my clear phone case and whenever someone would point it out I’d just be like, And what about it.
December 1st marked two years since my move to New York and sometimes I still wake up in the middle of the night and think, I’m in New York right now. I live here. And yet, I feel that New York has mellowed me out in a way. (Either that, or I’m just 25 now.) I am not Excited! about everything like I used to be. I don’t feel the need to hash out every emotion I experience in my waking life in a Moleskine journal. I want absolutely nothing to do with Instagram. Mostly. I often vacillate between wanting everyone I went to high school/college with to know how well I’m doing and wanting everyone to think, Whatever happened to Celeste? She low-key fell off.
I had a very small not-my-birthday-dinner-birthday-dinner this year, with my boyfriend and my best friend. We drank natural wine in a dimly lit bar in Cobble Hill, and shared fancy small plates and made fun of the waiter who was obnoxiously charismatic and used the word “umami” to describe an item on the menu. At the end of the meal Adam and Leah asked me what my top three favorite moments of the past year were, which has become a kind of tradition amongst our friend group at this point. I was aware of how inward-facing my three moments were. They were less about fun things I’d done during my 24th year, and more about the internal hurdles I’d overcome as a means of moving closer to myself.
I would like to call that growth. But part of me feels like maybe it’s just different. Not better or worse than what my answers might have been at say, 21 when I was more bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.
It was fun to slug through all the low-paying internships, and listen to CTRL for the thousandth time in rush hour traffic, and overshare on Instagram to an audience of people who I no longer speak to today. And it’s also fun drinking coffee in McCarren park with Leah on Thursday mornings, and whispering to my therapist on Zoom in my bedroom, and learning how to do things that are scary but also good for me.
On an unrelated note, I’m at the point with this newsletter where I’m feeling very ready to move on. I’ve actually been feeling that way for a while, but only recently have I decided to end it for good. Taking time off from the newsletter to work on my zine made me realize how fun it is to work on different projects. While this newsletter taught me the value of consistency and sharing my work with a community on a regular basis, I am ready for something new.
That being said, I have deeply deeply appreciated every single reply, comment, DM, tweet, text, and every other form of encouragement that came from the readers of this newsletter. So, thank you.
For those who would like to purchase one of my zines, feel free to fill out this Google Form. I’ll be shipping them out when I get back to NYC after the holidays.
It’s been real, y’all. I love you. Email me if you need me – hicelestescott@gmail.com
I am in the era you are reminiscing about,excited about what the future holds