Noah’s brow furrowed as he studied my drawing. I hadn’t gotten two steps into his apartment before he had suggested we draw. Noah was full of these random, simple ideas that somehow always ended up de-stressing me. I’d had a long day at the office and was exhausted but I couldn’t break my plans to see him.
I was stressed this night. The train ride over was two stops too long. The thing about long train rides is that you begin to think – which is never a good thing – I began to contemplate where I was in my life – again bad idea. I worried that my successes in the business world would hinder my creative growth and I would get caught up in the corporate web of corruption and greed. The word “sell-out” kept ringing in my head.
I sat quietly, anxiously, until I had to break the silence.
“I only took one drawing class in college, I mean I am not that good or anyth-” Noah cut me off.
“This…is…Awesome.” He said with dramatic pauses between each word, “You are definitely going to be famous, definitely.” His big brown eyes looked up from my sketch and twinkled in the light.
I had met Noah a few weeks ago and I knew instantly we would be close. I am not sure if it was the fact that we both loved reading, or that we shared a strange obsession with spiderman, but we just clicked. The first night we hung out, we stayed up late (way past bedtime) talking about everything and anything.
“You really think I’ll be famous one day?” I asked for the millionth time.
“Definitely.” He repeated nodding feverishly.
Noah was one of the few people I felt comfortable talking to about my deep-seated fears of falling through the cracks and becoming another jaded face in the New York streets. He was a good listener but never had much advice to offer me.
I put my chin on my hand as I studied his face. “What?!” Noah exclaimed.
“No, nothing. I’m sorry I’m being so lame it was just a long day at work.”
Noah’s eyes lit up and he hopped out of his chair, “ I know what will cheer you up.” He yelled over his shoulder. Minutes later he came into the room with a trash can over his head. “I am BUCKETHEAD!” he squealed joyfully.
People’s jaw drops when they hear I put in about 70 hours across my various jobs, and I agree I may have bitten off more than I can chew. Did I think I would be babysitting again after 7th grade? No. Does it suck exchanging dirty martinis for dirty diapers? Yes. But, I cannot help that one of my closest friends is a seven year-old.
In New York it’s hard to figure out what is up and what is down, who is right and who is wrong. People are overcomplicated. I have found that when the responsibilities and expectations of growing up start to stress me out a good solution is to call up Buckethead.
Lesson 3: If being an adult is too overwhelming, don’t do it.