Life has been lifeing. In ways I couldn’t have really prepared for but have somehow still been armored for. I’ve taken to saying “can’t complain” when friends ask how things are going and I genuinely mean it.
Spencer and I bought a house together, summer was beautiful and full of Michigan, we have some really great Case Oats news coming down the pipe, but we also lost both of our maternal grandfathers within a couple months of each other. Both giant, monumental figures in both of our lives.
I’ve been a freak this summer and fall, thinking and thinking and not writing nearly enough. Big life milestones always make me go into my own self so far that I can see the back side of my skin. Disgusting, gooey, and red.
I haven’t learned much from being in here aside from what I already know. No matter what, I want to remain good to myself and others, kind, and above all else, silly.
Things are good and I am so grateful. When I am filled with gratitude and prone to inward thinking, I tend to consult 12 year old Casey.
Not really consult as much as constantly ask myself the question, “am I doing right by her?”
12 is when I made the conscious decision to be a weirdo.
I remember the exact moment when the flip switched, standing in front of my full length back of the door mirror, in a polo and Bermuda shorts when I realized “I don’t have to wear Hollister…Jane and Kelsey don’t have to like me…I don’t have to have a Dooney and Burke purse.”
I sat in my purple, pink, and orange bedroom and listened to Ben Kweller say, “I don’t stand a chance in this fucked up world” and said “ahhhh it feels much better to be angsty than popular.”
I didn’t give up trying to be cool and blend in completely but I let myself see a way out.
And here, now, a month out from being 30, I feel thankful for that moment and all the moments that followed that made me decide to take the weird way out. (I also thank my parents for letting me listen to whatever I wanted to at 12).
My mom and I sat at my kitchen table a couple nights before Thanksgiving listening to Jackson Browne and when These Days came on I reminded my mom that when I was 17 and so sad, I would just lay in the bathtub and listen to These Days on repeat, dunking my head underwater every so often.
I asked mom, “why was I so angsty? I didn’t need to be so angsty?”
She was the same at 17, if not worse. And we laughed remembering that Jackson Browne wrote These Days when HE was 17.
And we came to the conclusion that teenagers have to go through that angst.
It’s a portal opening in your heart when you’re a teenager. You glance for the first time into hyperspace and see how much pain and unbearable happiness there is to be had out there. But you’re still far enough away from being an adult and (hopefully) in the safety of your parent’s home that you can just go through it insulated. You turn 15 or 16 and instead of blowing out birthday candles you get brutally ripped open and made raw to reality. Everything feels SO much and it feels so fucking good to feel so sad.
The more life happens, the less angsty I get. I still want to be 16 year old Casey too sometimes. Especially when I’m trying to song write- I wanna be that raw. I wanna be that weird.
I was with my friends at the Avrom farm party when l my abuelo died. I knew it was coming. I pictured myself bawling in front of peers and needing to drive home to my parents. Even though he was 100 years old, I thought I wouldn’t be able to peel myself off the tent floor, reeling knowing his earthly presence was gone.
But I didn’t. I called my mom, I called my sister, I called my best friend who lives far away. Then I walked back down the hill and sat next to Max and told him. I didn’t cry then either. We both laughed instead. And I told Max that I was so happy to be there with him and our friends. We stayed up dancing and watching shooting stars.
I saw Spencer react similarly after his Zaid died. We cried a lot but we laughed a lot in between.
12 year old and 16 year old Casey couldn’t imagine 30 year old Casey dealing with grief well. I’m hanging on to the last bit of angst I have left in me while also reaching out to an older me where more peace and lightheartedness exists.
I still find myself always trying to answer “should” questions. Trying to fit in a little more in certain places. Wondering if I should be more happy or should be more sad. If I should curl my hair more or wash my jeans less. I have peace with knowing that part of my brain will probably never go away but it’s good to know that there’s always a weird way out
^me at 12
I’m posting from Amtrak so I can’t figure out how to format a photo caption.
Write more soon.
Beautiful, Casey. 💔🕯️🕊️
I'm not sure that angst ever goes away or should. How it expresses itself and how you work through it, that's the part that changes. Congrats on buying a place!