Here it goes. In an hour and a half, the crystal flashing red in my hand really means business.
Conventional folklore says I’m no longer to be trusted.
On the eve of my thirtieth birthday, I can’t help but look over the past ten years and wonder if I made the most of my twenties.
Ten years ago, I was just starting out on my own, with a roommate and a highly disposable income, not to mention a sizeable nest egg. I was making investments—good ones, too—eating well, dressing smartly, and acquiring material goods. I read the Globe & Mail and The Economist. I always paid my credit card bill in full, often several times during the billing period.
Tonight, I am alone in my downtown apartment, with less than the cost of a cup of coffee to my name. What the hell went wrong?
Or did anything go wrong?
Let’s look at this from another angle: Ten years ago I had a roommate, and maybe one or two friends that I’d had since high school that I kept in touch with. Along with my mother, those were the only people I really talked to. I hadn’t stayed friends with anyone else.
Today, my phone battery is practically dead from text messages from people with whom I have strong, valuable relationships. These are relationships where there is a two-way exchange; or at least I hope I provide as much joy and enjoyment of life to my friends as they do to me. It’s a rare week that I don’t make a new friend. I expect more birthday wishes this year than ever before; not out of ego, but because I know so many more people. Twitter is only partly to blame.
I seem to have been thirty at twenty, and feel twenty on the cusp of thirty.
If once I had money, and now I have friends, I must have done okay for myself.
What does that leave?
Well, maybe I can spend the next ten years giving back to the people that have made the past decade so enjoyable.
First, I’m going to make myself a cup of coffee. Some things never change.