One of my closest friends, more like a sister, FaceTimes me as I sit in my car debating my next move. After a bit of catching up, I decided I would take myself to dinner instead of ordering delivery from my favorite sushi spot. I still haven’t figured out how they can deliver fresh sushi in forty East Coast minutes, and it still tastes like a gold star. East Coast minutes, a unit of measure I have created in my world, my mind. A gold star is also a unit of measurement I have made in my world, my mind. Simply a reminder of the places I’m familiar with and sure to get a good meal, friendly service, and at a time where the parking is closer to convenience.
As I walk down the street, restaurant windows are full of balloons. The dinner guests look like pieces of confetti squished into the added seats because tonight, everyone is celebrating. Some don their Sunday best, a sparkly dress or athleisure, like myself. Some are wearing Kelly green with whiskey brown in hand, drowning out the fresh memory of an unfortunate loss.
At my dinner destination, I walk in with the hopes that I’ll be able to find a table for one where I can enjoy my meal and people-watch a bit. People-watching has been one of my favorite pastimes since I was a child. I think I was an anthropologist from the minute I was snipped from my mother’s womb. I was eager to get out one way or another and see what all the commotion was about.
I hear a familiar voice. A hug from a friend who coincidentally helped remind me of where I was this time last year. I was at Martha’s Vineyard with her and some other girlfriends. We dressed in matching pajamas, laughed from the oceans of our bellies, and toasted to the unknown. The unknown can be unbelievable in the best ways.
“Would you like some ketchup with those?”
“No, I’m more of an aioli girl.”
I have a friend who jokingly questions my blackness because of my love for a mayo-based anything over ketchup when it comes to the dipping of a good fry.
I sit at my table for one, happily taking in the conversations of the first rounds of dinner guests—people who, like myself, I assume want to be comfortably on the couch before midnight. Maybe we make it with eyes half wide open to see the ball drop. Perhaps we celebrate our safe space, our warm homes, and a comfortable bed, and thank God before we snuggle up between the sheets, knowing we plan to start the new year with an early morning routine. Both options are just fine because, if anything, of the life lessons I have learned, one of those lessons is there is sometimes more than one way to begin a thing or finish a thing.
My waiter has checked on me multiple times. As expected, the service is always a gold star. I ask him to please take the bread away. I know I have already planned to finish this steak and frites as well as spinach. I have ordered a medium steak since my early twenties because I believed that was the fancy thing to do. But I think I’m a girl who likes it a little more red. Sidebar: eat your steak however you feel in this life. I won’t judge you unless we’re close friends, and playfully picking has become a fun sport, never unkind. I don’t finish my medium steak. I box it to take two bites of a dessert to say I had something sweet. Maybe in 2024, I’ll retire needing something sweet to outro a lovely dinner.
A few tables away, I spot another single diner. I see he has ordered the steak. I hope he feels as celebratory, happy, and complete as I do. One of the runners walks over my dessert to the table. I instantly get a little teary-eyed because the freshly baked dessert scent reminds me of a time when I felt most at home. These emotions are not sad moments, just reflective ones. Life is constantly changing. It’s so wild how a scent can transport you back to a tiny kitchen with linoleum floors and squeaky cabinets.
The Christmas decorations, I wonder if they will come down tonight or maybe after the brunch rush of day one of three sixty-six. It's a leap year, an extra day this year to make it count. Will it be love, will it be career, will it be the consistent fighting of fears that you stumbled over in 2023? Whatever it may be, make it count. That’s all I have for you as I sit and continue reflecting on the wild ride this year has been and prepare for the next train. Wherever this ride takes me, I will make it count.