Epilogue
My twenties are almost over. If I squint hard enough, I can see thirty. It’s drinking a martini and wearing boat shoes and cashing a nice check. It looks happy and, more important, not so different from where I am right now. Still, I’m excited to be older. I never thought I would be. For a long time I thought that youth was the most interesting thing about a person. I can’t imagine that thought existing in my brain, but it did. It lived inside me, a different version of me but still the bones of the person I am today. I want to give that person a kiss and a slap.
A few months ago I was looking through old boxes of stuff at my parents’ house and stumbled upon my father’s old journals. The entries span throughout his twenties, and in them he talks a lot about being nervous asking out girls and whether he’ll get into the graduate program at USC. In many ways, it read like an exact replica of the posts I’d been writing for Thought Catalog. You could’ve transcribed his journal entries, posted them online, and no one would’ve been like, “Um, what is this shit? It’s not 1975 anymore, bro!” Looking at what my father had written, I realized a comforting truth: being a fuckup in your twenties is totally timeless! Most of our parents may have landed a job, gotten married, and had kids by the time they were thirty but that didn’t mean they knew what the hell they were doing. They were forced into adulthood too soon, which is why when so many of them got divorced in their forties, they acted like selfish kids. People like to throw shade at Millennials and pretend we’re the first people to ever feel lost in our twenties, but the thoughts that hang over a young person’s head have always been there. The only difference is we have a WiFi connection that allows us to broadcast them. The people who criticize us have apparently forgotten that. They forgot what it feels like to be twenty-three and praying that one day you’ll wake up and know how to love somebody and do a good job at work and maintain friendships and save money. They forgot that when you strip people to their core and see what they really want, it doesn’t look so different across generations. We all have stories worth telling. We all feel the need to connect via our shared experiences. That’s called being human, not a Millennial.
Communication is one difference about our generation that I will easily cop to. The many ways in which we’re now able to “connect” with other people have actually made me desensitized. I’ve become numb to pretty faces. I’ve become numb to jokes, to hobbies and interests. Everybody looks the same in a thumbnail. Everybody’s interchangeable on an “about me.” I think of my parents meeting each other in their twenties and hanging on to each other’s every word because their world was too small not to. You didn’t have the luxury of looking up someone on Facebook afterward and seeing who your mutual friends were. You needed to be present. This could be your one chance to be with someone you really click with. Chase after them. Get their phone number. Don’t flake on the first date. Tell her that you love her. It isn’t crazy. Love isn’t crazy. You can’t afford to not be brave.
When I think of how we socialize now, I get sick wondering how many great people I’ve missed out on knowing because I only gave them three seconds to prove themselves. Instead, I went back to me, always me, and relied on my narcissism to keep me warm at night. I hugged my bent arms and massaged my tense legs. This felt familiar. This felt like something that couldn’t disappoint me. But all of this living gets hard to do when it’s just for yourself. I’m learning more and more that this world was not meant to be experienced alone. Whether you spend it with friends or lovers, you must have someone there to inspire you to be better and force you to be accountable for your actions and to pour your love into. You can find that person! You can do whatever you want. I’ve spent so much of the last decade feeling like I was somewhere I didn’t want to be and wondering how I could get to the place that would make everything better. There was impatience, a need for instant gratification that my parents and the Internet had engrained in me, but now I’m not so worried about what’s over there because I’m content with where I am. Here feels good. I like here. Here likes me. I’m not fighting it. I know I will eventually find a lover and embark on my greatest project to date, which is a long-term monogamous relationship, but until that happens, I’ll be okay.
I don’t regret anything. And neither should you. You should remember all of it. You should remember all the time you wasted in your bed or in someone else’s bed or at some bar where you overheard the same drippy conversations. You should remember how thin you once were despite subsisting on beer and pizza. You should remember all the people you tried to love and all the people who tried to love you. All the awful overpriced apartments, all the toxic friendships, and all the money you spent on things you can no longer recall. Then I want you to remember the moment you developed a keen understanding of what works for you and what doesn’t. I want you to remember being comfortable in your own skin and not feeling like you have to apologize for every little thing. I want you to remember the first time you decided not to put the entirety of your self-worth in someone’s careless hands. Because moments like those are the most valuable—instances in which you felt yourself no longer becoming the person you want but already being it. That’s pretty fucking special.
Acknowledgments
First of all, this book would not be possible if it weren’t for my lit agent, Lydia Willis. Her unwavering support, guidance, and endless rotation of chic Comme Des Garcon ensembles are what got this book finished. Also, thank you to Nora Spiegel for discovering my writing and telling Lydia, “Hey, we should meet with this dude!”
To my editor, Michael Szczerban, I still have no idea why you, a smart thoughtful straight man, decided to buy a book from a gay bimbo like me but I’m sure glad you did! Through editing this book, you taught me how to be a writer. Thank you.
Sydney Tanigawa and everyone else at S&S: Thank you for taking this insane (and delayed) book to the finish line and giving it a beautiful final shape.
To my wonderful agents at CAA, Chelsea Reed and Mackenzie Condon. You ladies are the best cheerleaders a wildly neurotic boy could ever ask for. Thanks for believing in my writing/ability to make you $$$!!!!
Chris Lavergne: You are my #1 freak on a leash. If you didn’t give my feelings a home for so many years at Thought Catalog, I wouldn’t be here writing this acknowledgment to you!
Stephanie Georgopulos and Brandon Gorrell: I love you guyzzz so much. We were like an insane throuple in New York. Also, Steph, babe? Thank you for reading all the terrible drafts of my book and giving me notes on how to make it less terrible.
Mike Chessler and Chris Alberghini: Thank you for plucking me from the blogging world and giving me my first job writing for television. You’re a ray of beaming light in an otherwise DARK AS FUCK industry.
Mom and Dad: I love you two more than anyone else in the world. Mom, you are the best mom ever. You are so selfless and loving—a truly remarkable woman. Dad, you’ve informed so much of how I see the world. I AM OBSESSED WITH YOU.
Allison and Sean O’Connell: Thank you for being related to me and letting me talk about you in the book. (JK, you didn’t have a choice in either!) But seriously, you two have been stellar siblings. Much love to ya.
My stepmom, Pamela Eells: You have been so gracious and kind and inspiring. Thanks for being one of my best friends and encouraging me in all aspects of my life.
Thank you to the following friends for influencing my life/work: Caitie Rolls (Ten years of friendship. You will always be the peanut butter to my jelly.), my #1 hon Lara Schoenhals, Clare Tivnan, Cailan Calandro, Molly McAleer, Bailey DeBruynkops, Braden Graeber, Renée Barton, Carey Waggoner, Deanie Eichenstein, Kyle Buchanan, Tanner Cohen, Rachel Zeiger-Haag, Alta Finn, Audrey Adams, Alex Simone, Natalie Roy, Danna Friedberg, Caitlin Truman, Colette Kennedy, Beth Montana, Alex Sharry. My Awkward family: Jenna Lamia, Sarah Walker, Leila Cohan-Miccio, Allison Gibson Montgomery, and Anna Christopher. Kyle Buchanan, for making being gay less gay. Michelle Collins, Sam Lansky, Carey O’Donnell, Jeff Petrie
llo, Adam Goldman, Danielle Reuther, my lil’ brother Jason O’Connell, my grandma Darline Record, V Bar in the East Village, where most of this book was written, and also Alfred Coffee in Los Angeles. Special shout out to Easton Gym and Xanax for helping me maintain my sanity while writing this thing.
About the Author
© SARAH WALKER
Ryan has written for the New York Times, Vice, Medium, Thought Catalog, as well as MTV’s Awkward. He currently lives in Los Angeles with his boyfriend, Simon, and their dog, Marty. (JK, Ryan doesn’t have a boyfriend or a dog.) I’m Special is his first book.
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Copyright © 2015 by Ryan O’Connell
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First Simon & Schuster trade paperback edition June 2015
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
O'Connell, Ryan.
I'm special : and other lies we tell ourselves / Ryan O'Connell. — First Simon & Schuster trade paperback edition.
pages cm
1. Generation Y—Humor. 2. Conduct of life—Humor. 3. O'Connell, Ryan—Humor. I. Title.
PN6231.G385O36 2015
818'.602—dc23
2015003771
ISBN 978-1-4767-0040-3
ISBN 978-1-4767-0043-4 (ebook)
I’m Special Page 16