Time to Say Goodbye

So in less than 24 hours I will be boarding a Jet Blue flight back to New York City, thus ending my angsty antics here in the Bay Area.

I quit my job, said goodbye to my world of drug binges, club hopping, and nightlife celebutantes....for school. Only school didn't happen. Seems that although the Stanford registrar said I was good to go, they had no clue that the financial aid department had a hold against my registration for defaulting on a student loan. Fucking bills... I've never cared much for them.

I must admit that for the past five or six years, I've largely operated my life by being in denial.
Denial about financial realities and the reprecussions of partying my early twenties away. I didn't finish school, didn't work on my career, but I did manage to make every big party, know every detail of the Olson twins' life, and hook up with half of gay USA.

And although it was really fun, about a year and a half ago, I started to panic. I needed to start working on a more substantial future than just happy hours and VIP guest lists. I wanted more than just hangovers and crumpled up phone numbers.

I'm a person who believes that everything happens for a reason. And I think that moving to SF made me examine my life. It made me realize two things: 1) That I need to stop the party and that 2) That the past six years have been amazing.

I may be a mess. I may not have a great career...yet. And I may not have a law degree, but I fucking had the time of my life. I was a hooker, met some crazy people, and did a lot of drugs. I now carry with me the stories of countless strangers and friends, and for the first time in my life, I don't feel guilty about not being sucessful. For not being my friends.
But I think the free-spirited people I encountered out here really underscored the importance of embracing change in my life. The hippes, radical fairies, and pot heads.

I mean it's your perogative to live the life you want. You want to smoke pot every day and hang out. Go ahead.
But the more I hung out with these people, the more it became apparant that they're were living their lives at half-ass. And that although my life in New York was ten times more glam, the coke, the clothes, and the guys all made up for another half-assed existence.

Life is supposed to be about challenges, I think. It's supposed to kick you in the ass, and you're supposed to kick back even harder. You're supposed to end up 90 on your death bed, looking back, and thinking that "Shit, I really lived my life as much as I could. I partied, I worked, and I loved."

So now I'm saying good bye and thanks to SF and to the nice people who made my stay here more pleasant.

No, I won't be taking a hit off your pot pipe now, but thanks. I need to get some coffee, get on my flight back to New York and get started on this next part of my life.