Birthday

30

I’m not an anxious person, and I’ve always had an OK self-esteem, but in the slow, quiet moments of my 20s I spent absurd amounts of time concerned about my identity. About not knowing who I was. About not knowing enough. About not getting enough done. About wasting time. About being a fraud.

Now that I’m 30 years old, all I worry about is my back. 

The small of it. See, it hurts more than it used to, mostly in the mornings.

But back to the tepid taming of my flaming identity crisis. The trick I’ve learned — and they don’t tell you this until you turn 30 — is to realize that everybody is having an identity crisis. All the time. We’re all faking. We’re all frauds. We’re all failures.

Fake it till you make it, then, isn’t just a saying, but a proverb. 

I see it printed on every bumper sticker, every t-shirt, every smile, every handshake, every campaign hat, every resume, every Facebook post, every blog. Fake it till you make it.

Give yourself a break

(more…)

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29

At 29 years old, I’ve discovered the truth.

Everyone is lying to me.

It’s not so much a realization, but a confirmation. The truth is that getting old isn’t all that bad.

Sure, there’s the aches and pains. That much is true. The other night I got off the couch and proceeded to the bed and upon lying, realized that, somewhere along the way, I tweaked a back muscle. Lift, turn, walk, lie and… my back is destroyed? Guess I’m not as spry as I used to be.

And sure. The mind starts to go. I’m more forgetful than I’ve ever been. Words are becoming harder to recall, and I’ve never been a worse speller. This became all too apparent at work the other day when I created a flyer for a football-themed event, misspelling Cincinnati in big, beautiful bold letters.

And okay. I’m taking medication. Dermatology stuff, but still — medication. At the onset I experienced side-effects. Nothing drastic, just irregular doses of dizziness accompanied by brilliant flashes of drowsiness, like some ill-fated celebrity duo tromping down a red carpet determined to prove the world wrong only to wake up six months later in rehab. I lowered the dosage.

And yes. I can no longer fit inside my own clothes. My pants have shrunk like raisins, my shirts like voodoo heads. But it’s not the clothes! It’s me! You see, I didn’t know I could gain weight. But then 29 happened. That magical time in my life when everyone said, “You’ll fill out one day.”

That day is today. (more…)

28, or, How Keva Got His Groove Back

Today is my 28th birthday. I’ll spare you the whiny existential, ontological, and anthropocentric rants that have haunted my previous birthday blog posts. Like yearbook haircuts, they are hard to look back on. Speaking of yearbooks…

I saw The Ataris the other night, here in Rochester. They are this pop-punk band from the late 90’s and early 2000s that I once obsessed over. I was in and out of a lot of relationships in high school, and it’s safe to say that The Ataris were unofficial therapists for me.

They had some MTV success back around 2005 with “In This Diary” and their cover of “Boys of Summer,” but of course, their best stuff came before that on Kung Fu Records.

Anyway, I talked to The Ataris singer, Kris, at the show. I was struck by how identical he remains, at least, to the fifteen year ago version of himself that I saw many times, singing on stage in California. He looks like a 40 year old trapped in a 20 year old body. He was very nice, I don’t mean to slight him or offend him. I just mean, when he sings, “Being grown up, isn’t half as fun as growing up, these are the best days of our lives,” I get sad because I worry he believes that, that he is holding on to something that no longer exists, and that I am helping fund this sort of delusion, by paying money at the door of some sketchy club so that he can go on pretending.

WOW. Whiny existential. Sorry. Let me get back on track.

How Keva Got His Groove Back

I have this joke with my wife that I am still in my early 20s. The joke goes, 20-27 is “early twenties” and 28 and beyond is “normal twenties.” This means, as of today, that I am officially in my twenties. (more…)

27

I turned 27 today. Every so often I like to change my age—keep it fresh. I’m a creature of habit that way. What can you say about getting older? Nothing really. Sometimes life is swell, and you want time to stand still to be able to appreciate it. But then the moment passes and we’re on to life’s frustrations and complications and standing arounds.

I had to work on my birthday. That’s the worst. 6am to 1:30pm. It was okay though, better early than late. Right now, my wife is making me a vegetarian eggs benedict (veggie benny: my favorite) for dinner, and I’m comfortable in the new clothes I’ve purchased for myself. Later, we’re going to a local brewery and grabbing a drink and desert. And after that…. if I’m really lucky, I’ll— what? I was going to say watch Skyfall on Netflix.

I’m trying to find something witty to end this little soliloquy with. Life just keeps moving forward, don’t it? I’m 27. Good lord, wasn’t I just learning how to drive and smashing my red ’96 Chevy Blazer into a stranger’s car in my high-school parking lot?  (more…)

26

We traveled to the casino last night—hitting the seafood buffet for my birthday. It was a gift from my grandparents. A lot of kids grow up with families who make dinner and bake cakes. We don’t do that. We go to casino buffets for the crab legs.

My wife had only eaten crab once. I suppose it’s normal for people from Idaho; some things are just different here. Most interesting was her unfamiliarity with the tools. “This one is for cracking,” I explained, “this one for cutting.” She nodded, I spilled the butter.

So the whole table cracked. Shell bits flew everywhere. My brother and I compared crab-meat findings like gold miners compare nuggets: “Look at this one!” I made four trips total.

After dinner, we vagabonded from slot machine to slot machine, searching for the perfect one. I lost; my brother said I wasn’t doing it right. I’m not sure how else you do it. But he claimed whatever it was, I wasn’t doing it right.

Acceptance.

When I talk to people about aging, a lot of them mention acceptance. For instance, one lady told me she didn’t feel comfortable in her own skin until she turned 50. One guy I know said something similar, except it was 30. I’m sure everyone is different. At some point we recognize who we are and become satisfied with the person in the mirror.

I don’t know if I’m there yet. I still feel I have too much to prove and figure out.

What I do know is that my family frequents the seafood buffet. I guess, overall, we’re casino people. You know those cute older ladies that talk out loud to slot machines, that’s my grandma. My grandpa likes the Texas Tea one. My brother has his favorites as well.

I’ve never much liked casinos; except for card playing and roulette. It’s not so much the smoke, but more so the sad weight of desperation that haunts every player’s shoulders. You can almost taste it. Still, if I want to get my grandparents and brother out of the house to spend the evening with, it’s where we end up.

Last night, I’ve never felt more comfortable around the ones that I love. I guess that’s part of that age acceptance thing. My family are casino people. And to be honest, maybe I am too.

Someday I think I’ll feel completely comfortable in my skin. Maybe 27? Until then, at least I am comfortable with my family. Even if they don’t bake cakes and sing me the birthday song. We love each other and express it uniquely. I suppose that’s something I can be comfortable with.

25


Well here it is. I’m 25. Great… In all seriousness today has been an awesome day. I really feel like an adult, mature and all.

For instance, I went shopping with my grandma. Then I went to math class. I’m about to watch Thor on blu ray. So yes, as you can gather, I’m basically still 15. What is ten years anyways?

Speaking of 15, my band played a show last night in Spokane. We played 2nd and the first band was a group of 15 year olds playing Romones -ish type music.What’s truly enjoyable about my band, is that since we fit into a lot of varieties of “rock,” we get to play with a lot of different types of bands. There are some that are great, and then there are some that are just not my cup of tea, coffee, or egg nog. (more…)