The Ritual of a Wild Night Out

03 Sep 2022

The story of the “wild night out” has a beginning, middle, and end as predictable as the setting of the sun. Yet despite this—or because of it—so many seek it out night and night again. 

I felt my heart tighten anxiously when my friends suggested going out last night. When they asked if I was coming, I shrugged noncommittally about my early bedtime and jet lag. Later I had to pause to wonder why. Am I worried about getting COVID from a crowded club? Will my friends think I’m no fun to be around if I don’t go? Do I really just want to go to bed early?  

In the end, I joined for half the night. I’ve learned through trial and error that laughter comes at one drink, dancing comes at two, and fighting back a throbbing headache comes at three. I’ve learned to sip my second drink throughout the night, to turn down tequila, and to keep the water coming. When the buzz wore off, I excused myself and called an Uber home. No one complained or objected. I was showered and in bed by midnight.

I’ve always had a strange relationship with the ritual, but I’ve learned the limits of what I consider fun versus what is supposed to be fun. I appreciate how time squeezes itself into the liminal space between flashing lights and pulsing bodies. I like feeling the endlessness of the night. I love dancing to loud pop music with friends and feeling my body sway without inhibition. I hate the expectation that inebriation is the only path to a good night. I hate the pressure in my skull after drinking one sip too many. I wonder if there are other, more meaningful ways of connecting with my friends. 

A Very Long Train Ride

06 Sep 2022

Yesterday, I took the train from Oakland to Portland. It’s an eighteen hour train ride that winds through mountains and rumbles past rivers. There were pastures of grazing cows, flocks of synchronized starlings, and piles of trash next to trailer camps. 

A man named Patrick was assigned the seat next to mine. He was on his way back to Oregon from a wedding in the Bay Area. He told me he was an orchard manager and also a cider maker and teacher and writer. He looked like what you look like when you’re an orchard manager-cider maker-teacher-writer from Oregon. 

He told me that his background is in poetry and he had accidentally stumbled into the wine and cider making industry. One day he was helping someone harvest grapes and the next thing he knew, he was consulting for vineyards all around Oregon. He told me that making wine is easy, but making cider is hard. Something about the sugar content of grapes and apples and pears. This was all genuinely interesting to me and I asked follow-up questions, wanting to know more. Eventually, the follow-up questions dried up and we returned to looking out the window in silence. 

When I told Jeff about this encounter, he reminded me that it is good to ask questions, but I should also be prepared to share about myself. Sometimes I am so intent on keeping the conversation about the other person that I don’t contribute to it myself. 

I wonder what conversations would have happened if I had told Patrick that I was a maker-artist-writer not from Oregon.

Pillow Talk

10 Sep 2022

Bilan and I spend most of our time together next to each other on our phones. For two people who haven’t seen each other in years, we act a lot like we have never been apart. 

One of the only times we are not next to each other on our phones is when we are next to each other in bed waking up. The morning light gently lifts the room from slumber. Even though I hear Bilan rustling beside me, I hold onto sleep for a little longer.

When I finally open my eyes, Bilan stops scrolling and puts down her phone. Conversation sputters and then bubbles and then flows freely. We talk about our opinions and our fears about contraception. We talk about our conversations with our partners and our impressions of our first dates and our halting hopes for the future. We talk about dogs and cats and the kind of house we would want to live in. We talk until it is time for Bilan to go to work and for me to check my phone.