Ohhh, the sweet sounds of sliding into that state of regression - post college kid hanging around the university, drinking out of bagged wine, breastfeeding from an easypour spout in the middle of an alleyway. Age is undeniably a bullshit marker of maturity and importance, but there is a notable difference in your actions when you drink and are simultaneously aging inchingly toward 21. It's that classic teen struggle to get as much liquid as physically possible into your body and trusting with courageous naivety that the rest will work itself out.
Age should be qualified by the way people around you see it. It's impressive how quickly the twinkle and nostalgia of 23 can fade from the eyes of the middleaged man you met on the train, turning into that fear and disdain of 23 that comes from a sophomore in college, crossing her two biggest toes in her wedges hoping desperately she doesnt end up like you.
"But you can always regress then reprogress - stasis be the enemy" Becca tells me. And in this process of traveling, all i could ever hope to do is try on various lifestyles, because thats what festers in the heart of all cities. This is my worlds first glowing opportunity to do and be the spaces that i'll be hoping to study further. The notion tingles inside and gets me all giddy and dances london bridge around my hangover. Must be reminded of those four words, carve them into my skin, eat them with my oatmeal, iron them onto the tag of my pants. Stasis be the enemy. Alright LA, i see you.
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