The first morning of the 2010s, I was 19, hanging my head out the window of my friend’s car. The winter wind nipped at my face and made my eyes water. The bubblies from the champagne I had drank matched my mood. Dizzy and happy, I smiled, hoping the moment wouldn’t end. I was about to roll up the window but then everything started spinning — and I vomited.
This was a good indicator for how I was going to approach the 2010s. Completely recklessly. Entirely cringeworthy. And always looking for some sort of happiness. Even if it was just the wind on my face or a group of friends to share something with.
Just yesterday, on the first morning of the 2020s, I didn’t vomit. I hadn’t even had champagne the night before because I fell asleep early. Instead, I was wrapped in a blanket on the couch in my apartment. The furnace hummed next to me and my partner, Matt, breathed slowly as he napped in my lap. I wanted to read a book, but I’d have to wake him to reach for it. So, I stayed put, hoping the moment wouldn’t end.