twenty five for 25
reflections on february and time passing
“I was so young when I behaved 25, but now I find I’ve grown into a tall child.”
I turned twenty five earlier this month.
I knew this was supposed to be momentous, a milestone, a quarter of a century! I knew I was supposed to do something special.
But I didn’t feel special. I went to work. I sat in my office and blinked away tears at messages from far away loved ones. I took a walk. I listened to the second movement of Beethoven’s seventh symphony sixteen times. I lit candles. I ate dinner. I wrote in my journal and spent time alone.
I blow out the candles.
Today’s newsletter is a collection, born out of much reflection and even more solipsism, of the gifts received, past and future selves met, letters I wanted to write, pity parties thrown, and moments of growing up this February.
twenty five things for a twenty fifth birthday:
I was not very kind to myself.
Tea: a box of very nice english breakfast, and loose leaf coconut green tea.
Gifted myself a new dress from a brand I have long admired from afar and it does not fit and is sold out and unreturnable.
A copy of Breakdown(signed by the author!), a recently released novel about an art teacher who suddenly abandons her life and family in suburban Dublin and makes her way to a village in Wales.
breakdown by Cathy Sweeney, and a bookshop near my great aunt's old flat We were supposed to be celebrating and I felt like a ghost. The spectre at the feast. We ate homemade chocolate cake in the courtyard.
In Frances Ha, the titular character(Greta Gerwig!) struggles with young adulthood and the messiness of life - “I’m so embarrassed. I’m not a real person yet.” In the film, Frances is 27. How long does it feel like this?
Bought myself silly chocolates and made a fun little dinner.
i got these chocolates shaped like little shells and pearls, so the theme was ... the Sea? which gave me an excuse to have fancy tinned fish and buy kumquats and posh natural orange wine and balance my pretention with rainbow goldfish crackers. It was delicious. I got to see a play about the dog cosmonaut Laika in a local theatre festival that a friend wrote and directed, and I learned a lot and was deeply moved and though about astrophysics and the museum where I once saw a painted portrait of Laika and the final lines from “Space Dog” by Alan Shapiro:
“Surely they’ll come to get me
Surely they didn’t love me
all that time for this.”
Even though I am always delighted to be invited to others’ celebrations, I feel unworthy somehow of asking for people’s attention and admiration. The mortifying ordeal of having a birthday. I hoped that I could be inspired to do something for myself, to share this experience with people, to admit that I wanted to be special! Why do I find this so humiliating?
It seemed too unbearable to ask anyone to make plans with me, so then I was sad that no one had plans with me. Knowing that it was my own doing only made me feel worse.
I read an astonishing novel(la?) called Open Throat by Henry Hoke. It made me miss mountains and mountain lions, and Los Angeles (or as our narrator calls it, ellay) and all the birthdays I spent there.
“I feel more like a person than ever because I’m starting to hate myself”
Baked a red velvet cake from a box mix and did silly decorations and it was perfect.
Indulgently cried on the cold, late night walk home from a party.
In Chungking Express, Takeshi Kaneshiro’s character turns 25 years old(“quarter of a century”). After a heartbreak, he gets a surprise happy birthday wish, and ponders the shelf life of memories, hoping that they “last for centuries”.
flowers in my bedroom and flowers in madrid On a sunny day, the park was suddenly dotted with white and yellow and purple february flowers.
The next weekend, I wandered the neighbourhoods of Madrid and spent time with(by) myself. I traced and retraced my steps, ate pintxos and pastries, spoke spanish everywhere and too politely, people watched from sidewalk cafés and terraces.
purras and chocolate at the palace, el parque buen retiro, a tiny pastel de cuatro texturas from a beautiful old bakery New pajamas! I loved the idea of having an old fashioned pajama set and it is absolutely delightful
In her song “Palette”,—I return to the music of my teenaged self—IU sings about embracing a new version of herself, “I like it, I’m 25…I got this, I’m truly found, I think I know myself a little better now”
heart waffles, pajamas, spring blossoms Birthday dinners — where I had a salad of gorgeous oyster mushrooms, glasses of red wine, perfectly crackling crème brulée, spicy, rich macaroni and cheese, tried an oyster for the first time and felt very brave, a foamy lavender cocktail, ate pasta with shaved truffles in a creamy sauce the colour of fresh basil, and—
Last month I read Eliza McLamb’s piece “how to wish yourself a happy birthday” and loved this line:
“you take a big gulp of air, like a seagull catching fish, and rise to the occasion. everyone you see on the way to the café is your friend — did you know that if you pass people and say “good morning” this is true?”
14th february: spring in dublin, pistachio pastry On valentine’s day I woke up early to visit a new bakery. It was a wednesday morning but everyone seemed in a good mood, so wonderful, aglow in the early morning sun, and as I walked through the neighbourhood with my bag of croissants and my coffee cup spilling down my sleeve a little, I saw the first pink trees of springtime and love was in the air.
my neighbourhood cat, my commute through the park, my valentine's picnic complete with heart-shaped foods and fruit, and orange blossom jam, and flower covered, rose jelly filled goat cheese <3 Sometimes algorithmic social media feeds bring us little gifts, and one morning this was mine: a man with white hair documents his morning coffee and the record he listens to to start his day - the comments on his videos are full of people talking about the joy of little moments and enjoying life and this, which touched me:
I faced new projects and took a chance on something scary (and maybe very exciting)
February is famously the shortest twelfth of the year. I always have the shortest birthday month, but in leap years we get one more day, another chance at something.
I try to be a little kinder to myself. I keep trying.
february 2001 <3 isobel
