Published before my 24th birthday
Last night I dreamt I was standing on line at Starbucks. I don’t drink coffee in my waking state. I don’t remember being tired in my dream, or craving caffeine. But I remember the way the Barista was looking at me. She was patient. While she stared at me, time ticked slowly and my eyes were constantly being pulled back and forth between her soft smile and the menu above her right shoulder.
I never ordered my coffee. Instead, we just talked. I imagine, to those looking from the outside in, that our conversation resembled one of those that go on in the background of sitcoms, discussions between extras setting the scene for a large social gathering. But, at the same time, I felt center stage.
Then, all of a sudden, she asked how old I was. I told her I was 24, and when I did, a feeling of peace covered my body, and I woke up.
The date was February 8th, a few days before my 24th birthday, and this may sound crazy, but up until that point, I didn’t realize how young I am.
I was a year younger than everyone in my High School class. I’m the youngest in my group of friends, but I always thought in terms of the time that passed, rather than the time that I had ahead of me, when instead, I should have used those two ways of viewing my life, to live in the present moment.
