Bad Experiences are Worth Leaving the House
Just because we’re not young and dumb anymore, doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be adventurous
I can see the waves from my porch. It’s like the ocean is in the sky. Or that’s how it looks from my hammock. My head against a pillow, swaying in the wind and I realize for the first time in a long time, I don’t have to set aside time to worry.
I’m making a schedule on a calendar when I realize this. I’m scheduling some hours for writing, marking time for reading, and blocking out an evening for passive income research. I’m especially making a list of various ways I can structure my day because my new job is remote and I need to create a work schedule or I will fall behind.
But I don’t have to schedule a time to worry about how to make money. The last few months I had been pushing and pushing to get a job, one that had a salary and benefits. And I’ve been able to cross that off the list and I get to take that worry away. That worry was useful but it took up space. I feel like I used up that last little bit of milk and I can throw the container away, freeing up fridge space for some tupperware or something. Maybe a bottle of wine.
Like I’ve said in the last email, securing a new job was a small step in an exciting plan. I remember hearing the term ‘5-year-plan’ and feeling alienated by it. But the truth is, you can’t get anything done without a plan. If you like your life the way it is, that’s fucking good. But if you don’t, you need a plan to get it how you want it.
If you want to buy a coffee, you gotta get your keys, drive to Dunkin, order it, grab it, and drink it. If you want a different job, you gotta identify what job, you need to learn how others got it, you gotta make a plan to get it, and then you have to attempt that plan.
If you want change, just weird, wobbly change? Eat something new, listen to different music, or talk to a stranger.
To make lasting change in your life, you need to name the thing it is you want to change. I’ve got a lot of things on my list and I’m tweaking the steps everyday. Today I got to tweak it again, by taking the ‘worry about finding a job’ off the list. Feels good. What gets tracked, gets managed and it feels good to track a small win.
Ah small victories. They’re the ones I want. The building blocks to being able to look back one day and see how far you’ve come. And as I look out on the Caribbean sea from my balcony, I see that I’ve come pretty far. Okay, that was braggy and gross but damn that sentence wrote itself. If it helps I have very little money and am very near broke. That first paycheck will be spent before you can say Airbnb. Or rooster. Or cockroach. Or mosquito bite. Or unidentified bug bite. Or car trouble. Or, tú hablas ingles?
Enough business, let’s chat. I want to tell you a story.
My cousin Liz and I either lived together or were just about to move in together, but we were inseparable. We did everything together. We carpooled so much it felt like sharing a car. She and I were always looking for something fun to do. I think this was right before we turned 21. I’m honestly not sure what year this was but we have no pictures and I can’t remember ever even thinking about taking a picture at any point in this story. That should be some kind of clue.
But in the summertime (of whatever year this happened) there was a series of dance lessons taught on Wednesday nights at Bryant Park. It had dance instructors giving group lessons in different styles of dance. You were able to find the schedule online beforehand so you could choose which style you’d like to learn. We decided to go for salsa night. They had musicians and everything so you get taught the steps, you find a partner, and you dance to live music. A warm night in the city while dancing with strangers to live music. Sounded magical to us!
Well, we got there late, not judging train times right or most likely we had come from our various jobs or if this was in May, the end of a college course. We showed up as the band was playing it’s last set and the lessons were mostly over. A guy saw we wanted to join in but hadn’t gotten to have a lesson. He started teaching us salsa and he was a really good teacher. We danced a little with him, taking turns and occasionally choosing other partners. After a very short time, the crowd started to thin out and the event was over. The guy asked us if we wanted to go dancing at a downtown salsa club.
This was the beginning of the era where Liz and I traded looks to communicate telepathically how the other was feeling. That system did not always work. We kinda shrugged our shoulders and said why not. He told us the name of the place and the address which didn’t mean much to us. We acted like we knew where that was and he said great.
So we followed him out of the park, down several blocks to Grand Central station to the subway. We hopped on the train and made small talk. He was speaking through an accent and I think Liz and I were muttering back and forth to each other, checking in, setting up our system of communication. If we didn’t like the feeling of him, we would leave. If we didn’t like the vibe of the club, we would leave. If at any point the other wanted to leave, we would leave. That sort of thing. We were absolutely naive, absolutely inexperienced at life. But don’t you have to be, to even consider putting yourself in these positions? We were so hungry for life, so willing to be in an uncomfortable situration for even a little bit of excitement? Do you remember that feeling? Watching movies where the characters walk into a bar not knowing how to act and then dancing in the moonlight with a gorgeous stranger who is something mysterious, dangerous and also so noble it doesn’t make sense?
Anyway, we go on this journey with this stranger who is definitely ten years older than we were at the time. I would like to state for the record that he was not a creepy person and the story ends safely. We got lucky in that way. He gave us a lot of space, and I mean physical space. I remember this because that’s a big thing for me. I want to believe if he was a little too pushy that we wouldn’t have gone to this club, but I really don’t know because like I said, our mentality was adventure oriented.
We get off the subway and he leads us to this bar. I’m going to use some creative license here. I want to say we went down stairs to enter the club. I remember the ceiling was very low, frat basement style. I do remember the lights and the vibe of the place. The lights were dim and colored, and there was a single short bar by the door. We didn’t drink, and no one asked for ID. He asked if we wanted anything. We said no, and he didn’t ask again. We nervously looked around, trying to figure out what we should do, where we should stand.There were chairs around the room to sit in, but the floor was wide open.
So, true to his word, he kept teaching us how to dance. He’d take Liz on the dance floor and dance a song with her and then he’d take my hand and teach me. The dance floor was small, and as night began, it got more and more crowded. It was full of latin and hispanic men and women really dancing. There were definitely different styles of dance being played; bachata, salsa, merengue, others I’m sure. Me and Liz would take turns sitting out but eventually as the crowd grew more people would ask us to dance. I remember dancing with a lot of people, a lot of older men, as well, in their 50s and maybe 60s who had come there with their wives and girlfriends. It was a community atmosphere where a lot of people knew each other and everyone shared their dance partners. The dancing was amazing, each man knew how to lead with such precision that I could actually dance with anyone because they knew how to help you. Your feet followed their direction.
It truly was like a scene out of a dance movie. Liz and I still talk about this night. Because it was risky. It was an unknown situation that could have gone any way, but we got lucky and it went exactly how we wanted it to go. In that way, it was a magical night. The lights were low and red, the air was thick with people, breath, music, smoke, and alcohol. It was amazing. It was havana nights with a very low ceiling. It was dirty dancing without woods and a lake and unfortunately without Patrick Swayze. It was everything.
Let’s see if I can take you into this moment. I can slip into this memory in such a visceral way. Someone asked me to dance, and I was nervous. I looked to Liz for encouragement, smiling with anxious eyes. We’d been getting a crash course in Latin dance so when they pulled me into position I was ready. This stranger and I were so close to each other. At first I pushed away from him out of politeness, awkwardness, a sense of caution. But he lead me through a series of steps and my feet found the right places. The music and my legs seemed to understand this idea that my brain wasn’t involved in. With his guidance, we were perfect. We moved like liquid. Cheek to cheek, chest to chest, couples all around us moving in and around each other, fast. There was no space between us now. He dipped me and spun me at the same time, pulling me back into him and away again. I could feel the sweat on his face, the warmth of his back. Hell, I could feel the sweat from the couples next to us. The music was loud and quick, the people louder and faster. The room was alive.There was connection, there was joy. It was a beautiful feeling. I never spoke to him. I laughed and smiled and hugged him after that dance, but I never knew his name and I never saw him again. But I’ll never forget the way I felt while dancing in that underground New York bar.
Liz and I left whenever we did, laughing, looking at each other with wide eyes, feeling like we had just pulled off an amazing heist. We had dipped into the New York City nightlife and escaped with only good experiences. How had we done it? How had this happened? We didn’t know but we didn’t wait around to find out. We hopped on a train and rode it all the way home, dancing across the river, into our beds safe and sound.
When I think back on this story, I can’t help but say I would never do that now. I would just ask the guy for the club address and go by myself with my friends, on our own schedule, on our own terms. But that’s also because I don’t have that hunger for new experiences in the same way.
At that age every experience is a new one you hadn’t imagined yet. Once you graduate high school, you don’t become an adult like everyone tells you. People need to stop telling that lie. Whatever age you get the freedom to plan your own day out, that’s the day you start having experiences that will eventually lead to adulthood. At the beginning of this, you are a baby. As you should be! And it’s so fun, and so painful but also so fun!
The best part of that age is the hunger for experience. I miss that. Life was so intoxicating then. You didn’t need sleep, because your drive came from ‘out there’. Out in the world. Your energy boost was a parking lot at 2 a.m., a cigarette from a cute boy, a fake I.D. and a small venue concert.
As you get older that feeling goes away. You have a greater sample size of experiences to draw conclusions about things before you even do them. Hey, want to go see a show in the city? Ah, no thanks, the last time I did that I spent $100 on drinks and my shoes got destroyed. As a newbie adult, that would sound like an epic experience. Really cool things start to sound like things that will take away from the moments you need to recharge enough to go to work on Monday not an exhausted mess.
But we forget so easily that those adventures recharge something else. Something just as important. They remind us that life is for living. And sure some experiences are not great. But more often than not, they’re still worth it. I want to make the case that bad experiences are worth leaving the house for. Staying up late to see a great band for $20, staying out til 2 a.m. on a Friday night with your friends even though you haven’t done that in a while, take a day trip, take your mom on an adventure.
OR.
Stay in when you’d rather have gone out and. Paint. Read. Write down that story you’ve been meaning to. Put the music on really, really loud and dance while you make some brownies. Write a play. Put on a play. Shoot a 30 second video. Shoot a short film. Express yourself in a way that scares you. Just push yourself into that feeling that feels right but also scary. Live there for a night and then reflect on how that made you feel.
I understand the fatigue, and I crave comfort and stability as much as anyone. Moving to Puerto Rico has stolen a lot of my comfort. And I don’t always like it. But there is something I am very grateful for right now. I am filling this well inside of me with courage. Every time I do something that makes me uncomfortable, or when fear tells me I will look silly doing something, that failure is inevitable, I pull courage from this space inside me. And once I overcome my fear that courage comes back to me, making me stronger, enforcing this belief in myself.
There’s a lot to mistrust in the world, but trust yourself. If I can trust myself in any given situation, I can do anything.
Be brave, dear reader. Don’t let life tire you out before you’ve had a dance. We won’t be naive forever but there is always something new to learn, something left to explore within ourselves. You know how I know? Where there is fear, there is something to be learned. There are many ways to learn, but my favorite way is adventure.
I love you! And please, enjoy the fuck out of your weekend.
