Good movies often set the bar real high for real life. Empire Records ruined the concept of the familial record store just a few years before they disappeared into obscurity. Casper ruined the concept of the perfect romance – like all boyfriends don’t turn out to be Devon Sawa in the end? And then there was The Goonies – setting the highest bar for adventure, and a story I will attempt to capture in my own life for the rest of it.
Growing up is weird. The clichéd phrase about women “having it all” sounds like an annoying way to market a new pink-hued tampon to women, but you do find the older you get that “having it all” becomes harder and harder.
As a teenager, I ran angrily to Limp Bizkit and hated it. The elliptical during college to Blink182 and Something Corporate was monotonous. Endless sit-ups to Marilyn Manson seemed futile. Growing up, I always thought working out had to be awful and un-fun and painful. Plus, I always compared myself to other girls’ bodies and in their pink spandex and sleek swinging ponytails, I thought I could never compare. It always felt more like punishment than something healthy.
For the month of May, I abstained from alcohol. This meant no spicy margaritas with a salted rim, no sparkling glasses of pink rose on Manhattan rooftops, no frosted mugs of beer, and no whiskey gingers at 2am on a Saturday. As you can tell, I might romanticize alcohol a little —it is a huge part of the professional and personal culture in New York City and certainly our culture overall. It’s strange how so much is held in a liquid that is technically a poison.