I didn’t fit their mold, and they didn’t fit mine. As I sauntered through the cavernous walkway to reach the open bar, a guitarist’s sweet melody guided me on my journey. It didn’t take long for the glances to shift in my direction-who was I? I, in my unpressed khaki pants, mismatched Neiman Marcus pullover covered with a black vested over-jacket. If not my obvious lack of fashion sense, perhaps it was the bandana still covering the majority of my face after masterfully protecting me from the onslaught of aeriel insect artillery, the same battle I find myself in each time I take my scooter for a spin-something must have inspired their inquisition.
It didn’t matter-The marbled 12oz Ribeye in a soy-ginger glaze paired with delicately steamed carrots instantly made my mouth water. Or maybe it was the chunky freshly mashed potatoes-but to be honest, it was probably the several New Belgium Fat Tires I managed to inhale while waiting on my feast. I slowly intoxicated myself with the flavorous feast and trendy craft beer and suddenly, I’d reached that perfect level of clarity and “don’t give a fuck” that allows you to sit back and really focus. It didn’t matter who I was, I would in all likelihood never see the rowdy old group of lawyers working themselves into a sweat trying to impress the obviously younger and…clearly uninterested group of women celebrating a bachelorette party-or favorable alimony decision. This realization was one I probably should have made quite some time ago but for whatever reason didn’t dawn on me until I found myself baby faced but not ID’d eating a surprisingly well cooked steak at an upscale seafood restaurant in a college town. I hope to carry this sense of freedom and spontaneity with me on my future travels-namely my upcoming trip to the Pacific Northwest. I have yet to visit this area outside of airports and shuttles between cheap hotels-the perfect opportunity for me to reinvent myself and find the inner peace that has remained so elusive and so desired. Happy travels.