are we having fun yet?

on happy hour, love, loss, and a lot of emotions.

My all-time favourite book changes every few years. Which sometimes defeats the purpose of having an all-time favourite, but I’m trying. 

Once I find That Book, I will stop myself from reading anything else for the next 6 months to a year, because I don’t want to be that girl that says she fell in love, and then two weeks later, has to tell everyone she fell in love with something else - because then how will anyone ever trust me?

So, at the beginning of last year, I put “Happy Hour” by Marlowe Granados on my Christmas list, because I think to myself: wow, what a chic name for a book and I love aperitivo?

And without giving anything away - the book follows two girls in their early 20’s around New York City in the summer of 2013. They work at a vintage clothing stall (the fashion in this book is so fun!!!), and essentially float around the city, hanging out with & charming the “right” people, at all of the “right” places, so they can live off a diet of oysters and champagne.    

And it’s so beautifully written, and you learn about the nuances in female friendships and the struggle for money when you’re young, and how easy it is to be blinded by status. And there’s this feeling of sadness that lingers throughout the whole story, but you can’t quite put your finger on why.

But then, you get to the middle-ish/end, where there is a line that is said by the main character, Isa, and it’s always stuck with me:

“I am alone in ways others don’t understand.”

Over the years, there have been many nights spent at many places where everyone thinks they are The Most Interesting, doing The Most Revolutionary Thing. 

And I left most of those nights with an overwhelming sense of loneliness and confusion. Because how can one be lonely if they were always in beautifully crowded rooms?

Grief is an interesting thing. It is a relationship that I never wanted, and it morphs and shape shifts and reflects and lives in places that I’ve yet to see. 

We are alone in ways others don’t understand. 

And the loneliness-induced grief has morphed into drive and determination and independence, and then into passion and creativity that looks to create meaning and sense of anything in this world. 

But, it’s also the voice in our head that will question and assume everyone’s intentions before they’ve had a chance to show us. It also heightens the protective parts of us, quick to shut down anything that might have the ability to further fracture an already fragile heart. 

And sometimes I would wonder if, on most nights, everyone is just trying to feel something else. Or be someone else. Anything or anyone else. And most of the time, I wondered if everyone else was just as lonely as me.

Years ago, when I was so new to being single, I made plans to go to a club with a few friends. I was 24, and a baby to the going out world. And the first feeling I remember when I walked into the club that night, was that same feeling of walking into a high school cafeteria on a Monday after a homecoming party on the weekend, where you accidentally ended up making out with the wrong person and became The Face of HS controversy.

And back to the club - everyone would stand at the wall, size up whoever walked in, and then would make a decision if you were Worthy of being at their booth or not.

I remember a friend introducing me to guy, whose first sentence to me was: “If I wanted to talk to you, I would have talked to you already.” And as young women know, there are certain lines and the moments that really stick with you.

So, in a shock to no one, the best part of those evenings to me became the Uber rides home. With my legs stretched out over the black leather seats, I could listen to my coveted 3 AM playlist and not have to Pretend anymore. There was a relief and comfort in being alone, and it took months of these nights in those years for me to realize that this was a very, very, very empty world.

We are alone in ways others don’t understand. 

I always think our ability to fall in love is in a direct relationship to how we can fall in love with ourselves. And grief and love and loneliness are all so intertwined. 

And maybe love was something we thought we earned over time, or wondered how it would benefit us or slow us down in the long run. Or what we would have to sacrifice in order to accept it. 

And maybe we learned not to trust any of it, because we thought it could be taken away at any moment. So, it ended up being easier to pretend. To exist in a world where you could run from yourself.

My grandmother hugged me this week. And I mean, like, really hugged me. No explanation can do that feeling justice, other than the fact that it’s a hug from someone who has known you, before you even knew who you were, who has loved and will always love every single version of you. 

Anyways, we’ve really learned to never underestimate the power of a book. It took me a very long time to finish Happy Hour, and I think it’s because I related to Isa - just a little too much.

I really do not miss being 24.

But I think I love you, I really do.

x’s and o’s forever,

Emily ♥️