One of my worst traits is that I tend to romanticize aging. More specifically, I place everything into boxes. Depending on how I wish to reference things, a “chapter” will be four weeks or 12 months. Either way, I tend to use that time frame to adjust my expectations into something miniscule and see what my life has ultimately become. Ideally, this helps me put to rest conflicts of my past and start to focus on new adventures, though it becomes more complex as I run into fateful nostalgia and realize that a lot of turning 35 was centered around realizing, nay… accepting, that you’re not hip anymore. The culture doesn’t always make sense, and it’s not always the “kids” who I’m pointing at.
To start at the beginning, turning 35 came with a lot of inner turmoil for a few reasons. The most notable was that of chapters, it was THE chapter that I tend to place a denouement inside to reflect a longer arc. It’s the one where the lengthy projects have to start amounting to something because, in simplest terms, my 30s were halfway over. Five years is a considerable time and a period where formative highlights had to have happened, right?
Without digging up old baggage about how quarantine made a few of those years difficult, I will say that it made me feel underdeveloped, like whatever progress I should’ve made by then remained unrequited. It wasn’t true, but reality and the fiction in one’s mind becomes difficult to separate when you’re the bookkeeper.
If anything, I end 35 in a much more optimistic standpoint. While I cannot say that I achieved many of the milestones illustrated by former 30-somethings, that isn’t to say that my time has been wasted. Sure, I still suffer from a small case of wanderlust. My city brings me joy, but it’s also the need to build a nest egg to get out of here, visit states up the coast and get a new perspective. I’m sure that I’d treat those endeavors like I did my 2014 trip to Utah, which is to say I spent as much time doing what I was there for and hanging out in a hotel room watching Adventure Time. Even then, those are plans that are still in the TBD column with hopes of having a clearer map in the near future. For now, it’s one of many aspirations that keep me motivated and challenging myself to stay curious.
Ultimately, 2024 was a year of trying to stay optimistic and hopeful. I’ll admit that it started on a rough note, especially in light of a disastrous Independence Day that caused a severe anxiety attack. With neighbors who hosted elaborate parties whose decibels pierced our windows well into the wee hours of the night (and even so, would have loud farewells on the lawn), it was hard to have any positive disposition. This behavior lasted until March of 2025 when *most* of the issue was resolved. However, those initial months made me develop misophonia around bass-boosted hip-hop, notably Kendrick Lamar’s otherwise enjoyable “GNX” album (unfortunately, “Mustard” is a trigger word for me now). I recognized this was an issue because when it went away, I still suffered from the fear of it returning, a feeling that took a good month to subside.
When living with that stress, it’s sometimes hard to not be distracted by it constantly. Part of me worries I wasted too much time fighting that sensation and never quite got to a healthy resolution (in part because the issue contradicts the principle). It made me feel vindictive, sometimes cynical and counterintuitive to the person I was trying to be. In a age where politics have turned into name-calling shout matches, I’ve wanted to stump more and more for diplomacy and compromise: two things that may take tougher negotiators than I to reach on a federal scale. With that said, I don’t deny that those urges are recognizable. I felt them on the news as well as in my life. There is that sense of built-in compassion you assume people have, but a lot contradicts a convenient answer.
The struggle to escape the dispassionate mix of approaching 35 with a sense of accomplishment and conflicting thoughts was not easy. For as great as July was otherwise (I finally got to see Ben Platt at The Greek on his Honeymind Tour), there was that question of where things would take me. Would it be a repetitious cycle going into the back half, or would change come about and give me a new perspective?
In short, my accomplishments read as small to those comparing life-altering events to individual achievements. As a writer, 2024-2025 has been one of my most productive periods in YEARS. I am currently going nine months straight of publishing a short story. Not only that, but I personally feel like there’s been more of a push in my work to challenge approach again, and I think it’s lead to some fantastic work. It still mostly exists as fictionalized commentary on how I see the world, but there is a sense of growing humanity and scope to the vision. There is that drive that may mean nothing to anyone, but confirms a desire to not lose touch with the one craft I pray to never lose.
I have also published my third novel, “Lava Lamp,” which I am very proud of even as I recognize that it’s my most difficult book. Whereas “Apples & Chainsaws” and “Downtime” felt more grounded, “Lava Lamp” goes into more metatextual layers that often made me uncomfortable writing, but also were motivated by an urge to try and create something I deem a real emotion. It was my moratorium to the dark, conflicting thoughts of pandemic life in hopes that I wouldn’t keep processing them for the rest of my life. As it stands, the outline to my next novel currently exists in a more upbeat register that I hope reflects my disposition going into 40 (release date, TBD around 2028 or 2029).
There’s been a lot that I’ve created that holds value to me. The Memory Tourist remains my most accomplished outlet for writing to date. Even as it remains a spotty output, I want to believe that most entries have a longer shelf life than things I wrote for its predecessor, Optigrab, which were both just a skill level issue but also not having the foresight to try harder. The Memory Tourist may be overlong and self-indulgent sometimes, but it stands as a testament to what I want to bring to writing now. It’s a time capsule that will hopefully connect me to a former self in years to come and understand their worldview in ways the more scattershot youth lacked.
I am always grateful to know that I still have that drive and optimism with the larger world. It gets hard to sometimes, especially when I spent Election Day 2024 on Twitter talking distraught people away from suicidal ideation. It was an uncomfortable reminder that sometimes the people you respect aren’t the ones others do. Sometimes they get smear campaigns during MLB’s World Series and are currently losing their rights to fulfill some purified nation grift. I do my best to not get caught up in the antagonism meant to divide, hoping the vision of America I grew up being taught will one day return. I’m unsure how generations below me will feel (especially those who gained cognizance after 2015), but I have to think it will get better. The fear that’s becoming doctrine is unacceptable, and I’m grateful for anyone fighting that itch in the name of ethics.
Because the answer is simple. If you go outside and engage with the world, you’ll find more good than bad in most of it. There is something valuable to getting offline and doing something that’s for yourself. It may not be long term, but a hobby that refocuses the mind gets to pull you away from the doomerism long enough to breathe. It will still be there, but no soul was meant to consume devastation 24/7. Take a break. Listen to music. I personally love Hurray for the Riff Raff’s “The Past Is Still Alive” from last year. It gives me hope for what this country could look like, or at least reflects the community that exists when you care to look for it.
A lot has been lost on the way. I personally lost my cat Meathead after a battle with cancer that lead to some difficult decision-making on our part. To zoom out a bit, my hero Jimmy Carter died and whose death allowed me to see a public conversation about what we expect from our leaders and the value of honesty. There was also talk about a man who could balance church and state in his own life, reflecting virtues that are harder to take for granted now. Even then, seeing a world embrace his kindness was one of those reassuring moments you hope for. It reminds you of your own mortality and the questions of what legacy you leave behind. I wouldn’t say that Carter was the greatest, but he meant a lot to me as someone who never lost sight of the job’s integrity. That, and his willingness to never stop helping even when he had the chance to stop.
I have seen similar feelings emerge for my home state of California. In January, we suffered a historic wildfire season that burned thousands of acres and left many homeless or uncertain of their return. While I can’t say that the federal response was all that encouraging, the union of citizens at home overwhelmed me. People were being helpful ad providing guidance to anyone who needed an extra hand. The additional benefit concert would’ve been corny in any other context, but I was moved by the celebration of a region that developed so much history and culture that five hours wasn’t enough to satisfy a tribute. Even as people posted A.I. imagery of The Hollywood Sign on fire, I was able to see the good poking through the awfulness. I’m not sure what would lead someone to demand the total implosion of a state in their nation, but that has regrettably become the norm. It has since been propped up in light of ICE Raids in Los Angeles County that, predictably, lead to mass demonstrations against the miscarriage of justice.
So yes, there are things I could lobby against the young for being silly. I personally don’t understand the current Olivia Rodrigo fascination. With that said, I’m still able to find other things that make me feel good about the youth. Their innovations fuel a lot of exciting markets and make me hopeful that we’re seeing an age where Gen-Z’s handling of the next bit will be a little less restrained than the early 2010s. I want to believe Jane Remover is here to make pop more eventful. Even PinkPantheress’ reworking of early 2000s melodies gives me hope the inevitable nostalgia wave will have its share of bops. But otherwise, do know that I refuse to see A Minecraft Movie as anything but a depressing state of affairs and I feel ashamed of you if that’s your “ironic” favorite.
To start wrapping this up, being 35 was as much an age of trying to close past conflicts as it was trying to open new doors. I’ll admit that I could be more assertive and take more risks that reflect that, but I’ve never lost that drive to create and listen to other people. There is something to being an ear for others that provides endless hours of enjoyment. My experiences may not be as worthy of a scrapbook, but seeing the joy of small moments helps me recognize how much will exist not as significant, but just as motivation. It’s going to the park or spending a few extra minutes to dine in somewhere. It’s making mistakes on projects and being able to laugh them off while you learn a better way. There is something to the human condition that is utterly infectious, and I am grateful to still have that passion to explore what makes it tick.
Somewhere in the mix, I found time to form a lot of memories. So many basketball, volleyball and baseball games. I watched St. Vincent sing the national anthem at a Sparks game. I watched Cal State Fullerton perform two losing seasons in a row before watching their women’s softball team make The Big West Tournament. I saw Long Beach’s volleyball team win the NCAA title with the one-and-done wunderkind Moni Nikolov. I sat at a softball game in 95° heat which… one star, would not recommend. I felt bad for the team because it was a double-header and we split after the first. I saw a lot of people enjoying the experience of being alive and enjoying the company of like-minded people. As trivial as it may look to others, having those aspirations does make a difference, and it does connect you with a world that can develop something richer over time.
As I read back over these eulogies, I recognize that I tended to hit a lot of the same beats about “this wasn’t my year, but next year will be better!” Given that I am still in search of the next big event in my life, it’s hard to reject that thesis. However, that’s to ignore how maybe you’ll burn out expecting every year to be monumental. Sometimes you just need to look at the small chapters and recognize that, yes, that was something that made life worth living. That conversation where I made a stupid joke still makes me laugh. Does it make sense? No. But it was spontaneous. It was real. In a time where I’ve become invested in the “dead internet theory” and maligned the rise of generative A.I., it’s been about finding truth where I can. My Twitter is no more. What once felt like a sock on a foot feels like a relief to be rid of. Part of it is the symbolic loneliness of its owner Elon Musk who becomes more inhumane to win approval. It’s shallow and allowed me the chance to ask: “Is that what I want to be?”
The answer is that I still don’t know. Part of me relates to The Brutalist because of how it recognizes the hard work of the lower class in an effort to build America. While I don’t build cathedrals or really anything that requires land grants, there is still that drive to make something that matters even as the world beats you down. I can’t say that I’m the same, but there is something attractive about doing the job until it’s done. It’s about finding purpose and a reason to be satisfied. As I read and write, I also do yardwork and have taken up hobbies such as painting and wood burning. I am trying to find new ways to engage with my surroundings. I’m not sure I’ll ever be the innovator I sought to be at 20, but that hasn’t stopped me from leaving my mark, my small sign that I was here. Ideally, it will outlast me.
So yes. This is the end of 35. I have made it over the hump and am officially in the back half of my 30s. There’s no reason to flub details anymore or make excuses. Ideally, there won’t be a conflict on par with COVID-19 to throw me back into a depressive slumber. Even then, it’s taught me how resilient I am, that I can overcome hardships and become someone who I see has a better outlook on life. Yes. Things are tough all over. A lot of 2025 so far has been about fighting that anxiety of current politics. But at the same time, it’s important to never lose hope, to recognize the people who make things matter, to try and make tomorrow matter. I’m sorry for ending this eulogy on just as obscure of a note as I have in the past. I like to think I’ve made up for it in other ways. For now, I march forward and accept that every day is a chance to improve. Hopefully the next one will have a few surprises.
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