2007: Debauchery and restraint mingled
December 27, 2007
Please tell me another year hasn’t flown by already. Please.
I’m better at reflecting on the past than I am at planning the future. Planning the future is kind of like making your bed. I mean, why do it if you’re just going to undo it?
So I won’t waste your time or mine with promises about resolutions or change. It’s true what they say: Everything changes and somehow, everything remains the same. The only thing that happens is it takes awhile to remember to get the year right when writing the date. Then and now, there’s really no difference.
Then: Last New Year’s Eve I found myself on the red carpet with microphone in hand interviewing celebrities at the Aspen Peak party, like watching all those tabloid magazines I read in the bathtub come to life. I got to see how tall Seal is and how flawless Heidi is and how mean Barry Bonds is. I guess what happened was the television crews from the E! network couldn’t make it to town when the airport closed so the Niche Media people who own Aspen Peak contracted a local company to shoot B-roll that would then be sold to the network. In the end, a clip of my hand holding the microphone made the cut and so, at least on some level, I realized my dream of becoming a tabloid journalist.
Now: Not only did I apply for a job with Aspen Peak that I didn’t get, I haven’t been invited to the party this year.
Then: I kicked off 2007 off with a huge party bender that lasted from New Year’s until mid-April. Some of the highlights included partying harder on New Year’s Day than we did the night before (I think we actually managed to scare some of the patrons at the Hickory House, which is pretty hard to do if you think about it), the 20-foot beeramid that was erected at the Super Bowl party, and “Spanksgiving” (a dinner party that somehow digressed into surprise spank attacks, misguided sexual energy like something I remember from the sixth grade playground ” that’s the best I can do to explain that).
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Now: Yoga has totally gotten in the way of my party potential, not only in terms of the amount of time I spend doing it and teaching it, but it’s also made me too healthy for my own good. I have to work extra hard at drinking now just because it doesn’t come as naturally as it once did. But I’m willing to work on that. I am.
Then: During yoga teacher training last April, I spent nine weeks of my life doing two yoga classes a day, abstaining from sex, alcohol and drugs, wondering how it was I ever considered putting that stuff in my body in the first place.
Now: I spent the last nine months wondering how I could’ve spent six weeks without sex, alcohol and drugs. Good thing I survived that, right? Everyone knows the best way to get in touch with your spirituality is through suffering so it was worth the sacrifice in the end, I think.
Then: I broke up with my long-term boyfriend and hit the town with a 20-something thinking I would have that last hoorah, that last ride on the pony, so to speak. Then I would find a nice guy and settle down.
Now: I’ve decided the only way to function in Aspen is to date at least three guys at once so, if you’re lucky, they’ll all add up to one normal guy. Also, in the end, the 20-something was probably more mature than anyone else I’ve dated. Age is absolutely relative in a town where 40-year-olds think it’s normal to name their bongs and live with roommates.
Then: I got myself out of debt when I rented out my place and moved to Steamboat last summer only to get myself right back into it when I spent several thousand dollars I didn’t have to pay for my yoga teacher training in Hawaii (again, the sacrifices I’ve had to make!)
Now: In order to get out of this mountain of debt, I’ve borrowed even more money and ultimately put myself into deeper debt, but somehow the lender convinced me that’s what I needed to do. At least I have something to show for it, like all those beautiful shoes, cashmere sweaters and designer jeans to wear to all these holiday parties. Like my girl Carrie Bradshaw once said, “I like my money where I can see it ” hanging in my closet!”
It’s not really about the “new year” although I understand why it gives people comfort to think about it that way. They say artistic people don’t think in a linear fashion, from A to B and here to there or even beginning to end. We’re more cyclical, and, as someone who has been chasing her own tail since I learned to walk, I can tell you it’s true.
The other night I was so tired I ignored the pile of clean laundry that I had dumped on my bed to be folded and just crawled right under the covers. I was warmer, and the weight on my feet sort of felt nice. In the morning, you know I didn’t bother making the bed, either.
That’s why I’m confident in saying new year, new-shmear. Even when the tank is on empty chances are you still have enough gas to get there.
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