26
Mirror, mirror, on the wall
I was standing on the rooftop of the W Hotel on Hollywood Boulevard, bathed in ambient violet light. The evening was brisk—cold for Los Angeles, really—and I found myself counting down the minutes until I turned 26, waiting for midnight to light up my phone like the most fleeting of snapshots in time.
This year I have lived many lifetimes. I have watched some of my wildest dreams come true, my most fervent prayers answered. At the same time, I am reminded of the infamous quote by Truman Capote:
“More tears are shed over answered prayers than unanswered ones.”
Now comes a moment to reflect. What have my blessings cost me? What have I gained or lost by circling another year around the sun?
At 26, my life feels like a movie.
Earlier this year I became a venture-backed startup founder. I closed my first round of institutional funding, hired a phenomenal team from all over the world, and charted an ambitious growth trajectory to blaze new pathways through misinformation. I am especially grateful for the accompanying accoutrements: founder friends as relentless as I am, travel schedule so packed I sometimes work in airports, and a social calendar so full I find myself hopscotching from Miami mansions to Aspen dinners to jungle parties in Tulum.
Honestly, you might not believe some of the stories I have to tell. Let’s just say I’m amazed at how many business deals are actually done on yachts, or how infrequently they enforce the guest lists at exclusive VIP events (especially if they’re letting people like me waltz right in). After some initial shock I’ve accepted that my reality now has new dimensions that I’ve never had access to before, and that my baseline’s only going up from here. Perhaps the craziest part is how quickly it all begins to feel normal, and how hungry I am for more.
But, make no mistake—not everything is champagne and sunshine.
They say that in startups, you will live the best moments of your life and the worst moments, sometimes in the same day. This rang particularly true for me.
While bootstrapping and self-employed I had no healthcare during a pandemic, and came close to financial insecurity. My boyfriend broke up with me the week I started fundraising, right as I was starting to pitch for the first time. So many VCs told me “no” during the process that at one point, I thought seriously about giving up. I have never experienced rejection so raw, and it’s never left me feeling quite so empty. I cannot tell you how many sleepless nights I’ve spent staring at the ceiling, thinking my way out of impossible situations with little to no resources and insufficient information. As I was running through walls, they were running through me.
So when I ask myself what my blessings have cost me, trust me when I say that I am no stranger to depression, anxiety, burnout, heartbreak, loneliness, or grief. But each year I learn how to shoulder my burdens with a little more grace, knowing that in time, they, too, will pass. I’ve come to appreciate that heaven and hell are places on earth, and that both are establishments in which I’m privileged to hold membership.
“I’ve got a million f*cking reasons to stop dreaming but I won’t” —Tanerélle
In July I moved to Los Angeles, and I’ve decided to settle, at least for the time being, in the media and entertainment capital of the world. I now have an apartment in Venice and a beautiful houseplant named Ezekiel that I’ve grown very attached to. This is a big departure from the first half of 2021, when I bounced between Maui and Mexico with no permanent address, no place to call my own. Perhaps another way to view this is: I have had many homes, and I have left a piece of myself everywhere, so that one day I can return again.
In time I’ve become a little better at letting go, particularly by allowing people to leave my life when they no longer serve me. This was a lesson that took me a long time to learn, but this year it’s finally starting to sink in. Not everyone is meant to stay forever, and that’s okay. I try to keep close the people I hold dear, which can be difficult with a lifestyle as nomadic as mine. That’s why the concept of building a tribe has really appealed to me lately.
These days, my tribe is bicoastal and cross-continental. It is as much virtual as it is physical. For most of my social graph, it is largely conceptual. Friends, family and lovers live in my mind, heart and psyche, existing in the tenuous spaces between wake and sleep, moving fast between memory and new lived experiences, coloring my world, sharing my happiness.
And on the topic of heartfelt, world-coloring experiences—how could we forget about love, my favorite drug? In the span of a year I have lost love, found it again, and lost it again. The wounds feel familiar but still so new. Dating in your twenties feels so fleeting, like quicksand slipping through your fingers. Gone before you can say goodbye. I am exhilarated by the highs and exhausted by the lows. These days I find myself standing at the still point of the turning world, just trying to gather my bearings again.
Nevertheless I am beginning to appreciate how healing, how life-giving, how essential love is for our well-being and survival, how delicate the bonds are between us, and how ill-equipped we are to make it on our own. Several years of social distancing has taught me that we are fundamentally social creatures, that love is fundamental to our core. I close my eyes and I finally feel warm, like I can take on the world and still be okay. Maybe I am healing, after all.
~
As I count my blessings at 26 and ruminate over the hard-won lessons of the past year, all the tears I’ve shed over my answered prayers, I am beginning to realize just how much of our fate is controlled by our own hand.
For years I was so excited about being in the driver’s seat of my own life (see: 23, 17). Now I’m finally reckoning with the responsibility that being driver entails. For decisions both large and small, lives and livelihoods are at stake—(yours most of all)—and the ripple effects from those decisions will touch everyone you touch, and everyone they touch after you. Once you get the hang of steering, no one can tell you where to go. You have to keep believing there’s a path forward even if you can’t see it yet, because this is only the start of a long journey and the journey and the destination are one and the same.
Every now and again I remind myself to look out the window. All I ever wanted was to bring the horizon a little closer, and now it’s finally coming into view.
