Owning Moments

I could write a big, speechy paragraph about moments that define you versus moments you are completely yourself. Moments that surprise you. Moments that you know you'll never forget. Good moments. Bad moments. Momentous moments. But I have to go to Target to buy a big fluffy bag to put baby gifts in. I have no time or inclination for speechy. But, these are a few moments I own, in no discernable order.

(I realize how narcissistic this seems, but the first-person voice is naturally narcissistic, even when being self-deprecating. And, to be honest, I need to remind myself of who I am sometimes. I encourage anyone who reads this to do the same. I also inserted random pictures just for kicks.)

At my friend Olivia's wedding reception, I was just about to join my friends going crazy on the dance floor, when my friend Kendra's Mom said, "You girls just have to stay friends," and I said, "Oh we will! Forever and ever!" And then I tripped trying to get to the dance floor.

I was 22 or 23, drunk, visiting Chicago for the first time, and carrying my shoes while walking down a rainy wet street with a guy named Eric. It was late, and I was supposed to go to a Cubs game the next day, but instead, I was in the middle of a street, soaking wet, telling this guy I liked that I wasn't going to kiss him, because kissing was overused and underappreciated, and I didn't want to be one of those people who takes kissing forgranted. He said he understood, and I dropped my shoes and kissed him anyway. Yeah, I'm smooth.

My new boss called me into his office at the little paper I'd just started working at in Knoxville, Tennessee. He said he had an idea for a humor column and asked if I'd ever done any humor writing. I'd never written anything funny in my whole life. Most of the short stories I wrote in college were intended to be sad realities about how the world really is. But I said, "Absolutely. In fact, I took a class on humor writing in college." I'd never taken such a class. I wrote that column, called "Bo Says," each week for three years. I even got fan mail.

I had this guy named Jason over to my apartment in Knoxville, and I put my feet up on the couch. He said, "Don't put your feet on that f-ing couch! That's so f-ing disrespectful!" I stood up on the couch and started jumping up and down and said, "It's my f-ing couch! Go be an a-hole on your own f-ing couch." He stole a can of Spaghetti-Os and left.

My friend Kendra was in front of me sitting on a toilet, but not using it, in a bar in Atlanta, Georgia. She was saying how much she missed her friends and how it seemed like things had changed since college and since she got married. I was kneeling on the floor in front of her, telling her things hadn't changed so much, and wishing I could visit her, but worrying that Mike wouldn't let me go and he'd end up yelling at me and there'd be yet another exhausting fight. I said, "I wish I could come see you in Cincinnati," and her face crumpled, and I hugged her. "Then why don't you?" she said. Why didn't I? "I WILL come see you," I said, "very soon." When I got back to Knoxville, I made Mike a bowl of tomato soup and broke up with him. He was convinced I'd met someone else in Atlanta. (Kendra will kill me if I keep the detail about her on a toilet, by the way. This night also involved some pole dancing, since Olivia is a big fan.)

When Pat Duchac called during an NCLEX review course to offer me a job at Vanderbilt, in the Neuro ICU, that was the proudest moment of my life. In all seriousness, I had never worked so hard for something, and there was a big part of me that was pretty sure I'd aimed too high, and that I shouldn't have turned down the job offers I'd had in Chattanooga. It sounds cheesy, but having worked that hard for something and gotten it made me believe all the mistakes and stupidity and wrong paths in my life up until that point were worth it. Pretty silly, huh?

When covering a story about art in the Old City for a short-lived alternative student newspaper, I brought Lizzie along and asked her to do photography. While taking a break at Cup A Joe, Lizzie giggled and said, "I feel just like Gregory Peck and Eddie Albert in 'Roman Holiday'!" And I laughed and Lizzie snorted. That's one of Lizzie's favorite Audrey Hepburn films.

There are lots of other moments -- Had Claire and I not been reading the exact same Stephen King book ("It") and been at nearly the exact same spot in 9th grade, I wouldn't have nearly the same stories -- that don't translate well into writing, not that any of this translated well. You had to be there, really. I was.

(P.S I would LOVE to hear about your moments if you want to share!)