Timing Is Everything
When the wedding was over, we did something that I’ve never done in all of the weddings I’ve been to.
We all went, together, to the honeymoon suite and kept celebrating. Bride and groom. Bridesmaid and groomsmen. Friend and family. We all went, together, and kept celebrating–laughing and joking, reminiscing and dreaming–until early hours of morning.
The night was the perfect punctuation for a weekend I needed. A weekend in which I was reminded of my past and a weekend in which I was nudged forward to my future.
It was a night in which only one thing mattered: Time.
Over the last few months, I’ve become obsessively aware of time.
How much time I spend working. How much time I enjoy with friends. How much time I miss with my family.
And in the midst of it all, the greatest lesson I’ve learned is this: Timing is everything and time is everything.
So maybe that’s why, in the infancy of their marriage, my friends didn’t run off to be alone. Maybe that’s why the rose petals on Jenny and Cullen’s wedding bed were destroyed by Jenny, Rebecca and I rolling through them, tossing them on each other and laughing so hard that we couldn’t breathe whilst doing so.
Maybe it’s because these days, times in which everyone you care about is in one place are few and far between. And the times when everyone is together celebrating are even fewer and further between.
So we celebrated.
And savored our time. Our precious time.
It was hard not to think about the time I spent in California. The six years–six wonderful, magical, inspiring years–I spent beating the pavement, chasing my dreams. Blindly, Naively. Cluelessly.
It was hard not to think about the times we spent together. Rebecca, Jenny and I. A trio of three completely different yet seemingly similar girls whose fate or crazy dreams brought them together in Los Angeles.
It was hard not to think about how we’ve seen each other at our best and at our absolute worst. Literally. Joy. “I got the job at Disney!” Pain. “My dad has cancer.” Sadness. “I got screwed over by X, Y or Z guy. Again.”
It was hard not to think about how much time has gone by.
I was 22 when I moved to California. All I knew then is that I wanted to work in the entertainment industry. I figured I’d become an agent, although if I’m honest with myself, I really had no idea what that entailed.
I really believe that the first place you live after college becomes your home. It’s where you cut your teeth in life. Where you find yourself. Where you fail. Where you pick up the pieces afterward. Where you come to life. And where you move on.
California will always hold me. Unlike anything else. Places, people or dreams. The place stole my heart. And if I’m honest, I’m ok with it having it.
I’m an introspective introvert, and I know that’s surprising to some. My job forces me to be outgoing, and I like it that way.
In reality, there are only a few people that I let fully into my world. Maybe it’s fear, maybe it’s shyness, maybe it’s that I’ve only found a few people in this world that I can trust. Whatever it is, I can count on one hand the people I share my deepest feelings, biggest convictions, truest fears and greatest hopes with.
It’s with their souls, that if I had all of the time in the world to spare, I’d share it with.
I stole away for a moment at the wedding on Saturday. And I just watched. I watched my best friend from law school and her fiancee spend time together. I looked on at their happiness. I saw their ease. I saw their compatibility.
I looked out on the dance floor, and I saw the same in every corner my eyes stared. I saw so many of my friends, who just a short time ago had their hearts rocked by one actor or another, some rock star or has been, or some athlete or professional jerk. And on this night, not so far away from our Los Angeles past, they were spinning around in sheer and utter joy.
I smiled. The biggest smile I’ve smiled in well, probably ever. Even though I was standing alone, it was the first time in a long time that I haven’t felt painfully alone at a wedding. And it felt that way, because it was the first time in a long time that I was fully hopeful for my future.
I was fully hopeful for my future because I could see it.
Time brought me here. To this moment. It cleared out pieces of my past that needed to go. It took me places I needed to see. It reunited me with people I needed to know. All for this. This fleeting but perfect moment that seemed like it was only mine. This fleeting but perfect moment that felt like it was right on time.
One thing that held me back from finding the perfect career was my inability to visualize or put words to what I wanted in one. When someone asked me what I wanted to be, I threw out catch phrases or ideas of what I thought the world wanted or expected me to be. “An agent.” “An entertainment attorney.” “I want to work in music.” “In Hollywood.”
I had no idea what any of that meant, looked like or symbolized.
So, it’s no wonder I never found it.
The same could be said for my love life.
I spent five of my best years of my 20s chasing someone who I don’t know why I ran after. If you asked me what characteristics he held that I admired or sought in a relationship, I couldn’t tell you now. Then, I saw what I thought the world wanted me to have. Power. Success. Drive. Good looks.
It’s no wonder it never worked out.
My interview for my current job lasted seven hours. Ahead of the interview, my boss asked me to prepare a one-hour lecture on sports agents. He didn’t narrow the topic beyond that. It was left broad, with little guidance of what I should cover about a nearly billion dollar industry.
Seeing as I never was an agent, I figured the best thing I could do to prepare was call the greatest sports agent of all-time: Leigh Steinberg.
The call went something like this. “Leigh, I have to give a presentation on how to be a sports agent. What should I tell them?”
Leigh spent over an hour on the phone with me, going through the in’s and out’s of how to build an agency. He was meticulous. The information he gave me was paramount. When we hung up the phone, I knew that none of the other candidates would be able to compete with what I was about to present. I had clarity.
“How can I thank you for your help, Leigh?” I said.
“Just go get the job, Alicia.”
Find what you want.
Then go get it.
I finally know what I want when it comes to that missing piece of my heart. The place I’ve held empty for a long time, waiting to know, to understand, to feel what needs to fill it.
And it’s no longer a label.
It’s no longer a title.
It’s no longer status.
It’s no longer looks (ok, maybe it still is).
Freely given, true, organic, spin me around on the dance floor like I’m the greatest thing that happened to you, real love.
And it’s about time.