In a little less than two weeks, I will turn 21. I guess it is a milestone insofar as I’ve actually survived 21 years of bumbling through life. And I’ve pretty much abandoned the hope that maturity and worldliness will be magically bequeathed unto me at 12:01 a.m. Nobody, it appears, has it together at 21. Bravo, world, for keeping me and everyone I know in the dark.
Two years ago, I had a plan for exactly how I would spend my 21st birthday. Suffice to say it involved a lot of booze I no longer drink and friends I no longer keep in touch with — which is both humbling and scary when I stop and think about it. So many things have changed in the span of two years — I’m basically an entirely different person.
The new plan is simple: I just want to share a few legal drinks with the people I love most. Two or three craft beers will be pomp enough for me. Because what I’ve come to value is the company of tried-and-true friends — those people who not only saw me at my worst but also chose to stick around.
Lucky is the person who finds his or her best friend during their first week of college. I envy you, truly. My first few years involved a lot of jumping between hazy friend groups and feeling out of place (which only made me cling to those quasi-friends more). It took me most of college, but I’ve finally found some keepers. I guess it makes sense that they’re my friends, because they’ve experienced the same stressful shit as I have. No deeper bond exists than that between people who survive something together.
Yet the scary thing is that some of those people will graduate in the next few weeks. The people I rely on most won’t be around next fall.
It’s stupid to be strategic about something like friendship. Friends are not something you plan out like moves on a chessboard. Yet sometimes, I can’t help but think: Should I have played my cards differently, rather than jumping into friendships with people older than myself? Now that leaves me on the brink of a weirdly bereft senior year. It’s not that hard to start over. I’ve done it more than once. But no matter how many times I do, I never shake the feeling of regret and nostalgia.
Last summer, while holding down my usual spot on the outdoor patio of the Free Speech Movement Cafe, I overheard two people talking about a study-abroad experience. One phrase stuck out: “A lot of the social events,” one girl said, “are going-away parties.”
Cue the next few weeks of my life.
It’s not like I’ll never see these people again. But there’s a bittersweetness to the fact that their places in my daily life will vanish. I won’t watch Jonathan’s entire face burst out in laughter when I say something funny — the highest reward for my humor. I won’t listen to Derek and Anya practically speak another language whenever they see each other. I won’t sit through another excruciating English lecture with Justin and laugh about it afterward. I won’t zoom through HBO series with Derek while we eat takeout in bed. I won’t see Derek every day.
One thing I just realized is how much of the last year has been enveloped in laughter — in each of us trying to one-up the other in jokes and sarcasm. Even the name we gave ourselves, the Heem Team, is an inside joke. We take up a very small corner of the world, but it means the world to me. Maybe the horrible shit brings people together, but the jokes keep us coming back.
I used to tread very lightly on the lives of my friends. I never asked too much for fear of losing them. But these people all demand things of me. And the thing is, I value the give-and-take. I’m happiest when I’m supporting them. It scares me to think that Derek and Jonathan will be moving on. The selfish part of my heart wants them to stay right here at my disposal. But that’s not how life works. That’s not how love and friendship work.
Each day, I become more afraid of what will happen next year — even of what will happen this summer. It’s scary to watch a deadline creep up, knowing that it will change everything. My best friend won’t even be around for my birthday, which isn’t scary so much as plaid old sad. My birthday will essentially be a going-away party — it’s one last hurrah for the Heem Team.
But allow me to impart some newfound wisdom that I’ve inherited from another year of life. We’re at that volatile point in our lives where things will change every single day. An entire lifetime will separate you from the person you were two years ago. Things change. Shit happens. People leave. The world doesn’t owe you or me or any of us anything.
So when you do find something or someone you value, don’t forget to drink to that.
Contact Annie at [email protected].