I Can Only Stomach Effervescent

I think I hit “backspace” about 45 times before settling on this sentence. The first one of what I hope is a consistent airing of my artistic (and occasionally broad) thoughts. For what? I’m not sure. I’ve always wanted to inspire, to influence. I lay awake wondering what legacy or trace I will leave when I’m gone. I’m sure most folks wonder the same. Maybe especially artists? All at once though, I can’t stand the thought of being obligated to produce daily or weekly blog posts. In the past, I have been one to giddily set up Instagram pages about living simply or working out, or offer new product lines like fantasy-themed subscription boxes, just to get overwhelmed or sidetracked and move on to my next sparkly idea. On the other hand, when I get on to something, and I mean really get on to it, it’s ride or die. All that to say, who knows if I’ll ever type another entry, or even finish this one. But I hope I do both.

I am a Type A, Enneagram 3, ENFJ; Once to the core, but now superficially. If “Another Earth” is real, Me #2 is probably ignoring the 5:16 PM on the office clock in favor of an all-nighter consisting of strained eyes and takeout. I can’t decide if Me #2 is working on a second graduate degree or wrapping up a high-stakes branding package for the client of the year. I’m exhausted for Me #2. I’m grateful I’m not her anymore. So who am I then? I reckon that’s the million-dollar question of many 30-somethings isn’t it? And it may even be the reason I’ll keep writing posts for this blog.

They say you are a culmination of the 5 people you hang out with most. To that, I say I’m honored because my inner five are made of the good stuff. I’m lucky to have them in my life and I’m happy to be somewhat of a reflection of each. However, I’d argue that every person is also made up of traits coming from much more elusive sources which seem to become evident on some random Tuesday. 

I sip wine like my Art History professor and department dean from undergrad. Or I try to at least. I can still smell the garlic and ca. 2012 perfume from my Women’s University peers as we sat in a Roman restaurant waiting on our antipasto. I ordered a Pinot Grigio, my first full glass of anything alcoholic ever. As soon as the liquid grazed my lips, I had static in my jaw joints and my ears flushed with warmth. I held back a gag. All at once, my professor stands, wine in hand, and waits for the room to hush. She’s poised and serious, calculating each word carefully before it leaves her mouth. When the room is silent, she toasts to being together in Rome, and to great accomplishments back home. Her eyes turn to me with accolades on my accomplishment of graduating days prior with a 4.0 GPA. She lifts her crimson glass and drinks. I can’t even explain the finesse. To this day, our shared moment has shaped who I am and strive to be: A seeker of knowledge, sophistication, and worldly leisures. I can only hope she didn’t see me repulsed at fine Italian wine. These days, I can only stomach effervescent, but you better believe I’m sipping it with class.

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