When I was a teenager, I was convinced that I was going to graduate from high school and all of that shitty shit during those awkward years was going to go away. All of that pining and wishing for acceptance- the whole "fitting in" thing that I could never figure out would soon vanish into thin air because, as a college girl, I would have it figured out. And boys would FINALLY pay attention to me.

College was no better for me. I was a disillusioned playwright in a whirlpool of actors and actresses in a theatre school. Boys still weren't paying attention to me, being that they were pretty much concerned with paying attention to themselves. I didn't feel like I was starting to get the whole socializing thing right until I changed my major to English in the College of Liberal Arts where no one cared so much about fame and fortune, and we talked about Chaucer and Keats like it wasn't weird to talk about poetry from hundreds of years ago. 

Embarking into the work force was a little easier. I had discovered my confidence: I was attempting to conform to the interests and desires of everyone in Los Angeles. I decided to become a filmmaker. I spent the next several years of my life absorbing and observing, attempting to figure out the ins and outs of the industry. I considered animation, I considered screenwriting, I considered directing, I considered everything. I took a personal assistant position for a well-known creative entity so that maybe I'd absorb some of that by osmosis. And then I hit a wall. I could not figure it out. There was no osmosis. I could not figure out how to find myself and my creative voice in this medium. And boys were STILL not paying attention to me. And if they were, it was this really twisted attention. A perverted, superficial kind of attention that I always hoped would develop and stick. It was always that hope that broke my heart in the end. 

About a year ago I really fell hard for one of these guys, N. He told me everything I wanted to hear, and whatever distance there was between us was attributed to a recent bad break up. I believed that line. Truth was, he's not the commitment type. Had he said that up-front, I may have been a little more forgiving, but I had to find out the hard way: Facebook. There were other girls, there were secretive status updates, and finally pictures confirming the fact that I was just an afterthought. It took me a while to get over it because I had invested so much energy in being understanding of all of that relationship baggage of his, so much of my time was wasted hoping that he'd pick me and he never would, nor did I really want him to after figuring out what he was really interested in: an entire roster of chicks to choose from on a Friday night. I felt like a mess about him, and so so foolish. It was compounded by the fact that I was directionless.  I was just a mess, and I felt like I was never going to figure this whole life thing out.

I ran into him last weekend.

It would have been disastrous had I not made a very interesting decision recently. I should backtrack. Here's a little run down of what's been going through my head  over the past month or so. After years of confusion and struggle to climb over obstacles in my career and constantly changing my mind and dozens of unfinished projects, I had to sit down and have a heart to heart with myself. I had to really think about what I was doing with my life. Was I doing whatever that omniscient power in the sky had put me on this Earth to do? I had to sit and think about the things I knew I was good at... and then it hit me. I care about people, really and truly, and I strive to take care of those around me. I have always been a nurturer and a listener, and I have always tried to give thoughtful and unbiased advice. That may mean that I'm a good friend, but I could be so much more than that to my small circle of friends. I could use those talents in the world at large. I would make a great activist and social worker. On top of that, it would inspire my writing to lose myself in the service of others. So I wrote a play (my first in years), I started researching social work programs at different grad schools, I started signing up for a ton of volunteering opportunities. Things are looking up!

Back to this weekend. I went to a birthday party for a friend of mine whose social circle is made up of a tight-knit group of filmmakers and comedians who are all very fun to hang out with. I haven't seen them in almost a year it seems because I was still recovering from N, and I knew that the sight of him would feel like a punch in the gut. Now I can go into a party like that with confidence: I have a vision for my life now, my knees are no longer made of jello wondering what I should tell people when they ask me what I do for a living. And now N is the afterthought.

 I saw N from across the room and waved a cordial wave. He was flirting with a girl, a girl who was not his girlfriend, which was typical, but meh, I'm glad it's not me that has to worry about it. 

I joked around with people and told them my plans for volunteering and going back to school. Everyone was very excited for me, and even though I may not be invested in their career paths, I was still an interesting person to talk to and that was finally good enough.

I walked out of the bathroom at the same time N walked out of the bathroom. I said hi and made a joke about how awkward it was knowing that I was peeing next to him.  A storm cloud seemed to furrow his brow.

"It's not awkward is it?"

"Of course it is!" I laughed. I mean, I think it's pretty awkward being aware of the bodily functions of the person sitting next to you. It's toilet humor. It's awkward.

"Wait a minute." He stopped in his tracks. "It's not awkward between us!"

Well... So much for not being awkward. He went on.

"I mean, it didn't end that badly between us."

My body started to go into shock. I crossed my arms over my stomach, afraid that I would puke. I shrugged, feeling suddenly 16 and horribly self-conscious. But I tried to smile through it.

"N, it was a little awkward the way things ended."

"I mean, do you think I  don't still think about you?"

There it was. The punch to the gut. 

"Don't you have a girlfriend?" I asked him.

"Yeah! I do. Just that when I see you, I look at you and say, 'There she is.'"

Part of me wanted to laugh at him. And another part of me wanted to cry. 

"What does that mean?" 

"I guess that means as much as it's supposed to mean. If that makes any sense."

"No. It doesn't." 

I imagined myself turning on my heel and walking away without another word. But I wasn't going to leave it like that. I was going to be a woman. I was going to handle this with grace.

"Well, I'm glad you're with a girl that makes you happy..."

He shrugged. And continued to look at me, like he had more to say. 

"Well, I'm going to this afterparty. Are you going? I'll see you there!"

And I smiled through it as I walked away, not letting that jackass say another word.

I'm not going to lie, my confidence was rattled to the core. But it was not disastrous. I walked out of the party still the same woman I was when I walked in. 26 years old. Soon to be playwright and social activist. Former smoker. Light drinker. Head held high. Maybe that means I'm finally figuring it out: a person's character matters so much more than who laughs at your jokes or the number of friends you have or how an ex feels about you. Or maybe that's not it at all. Maybe none of that matters. Maybe the only thing that really matters to me right now is that I'm volunteering tonight at the West Hollywood Food Coalition, that UCSF and USC look like good options for me, and that I was just accepted into a theatre company and they want me to develop my play further. 

I'm walking on solid ground. Even if I'm alone, it feels really great.