Several months ago, 420 happened. That’s the day where people who like marijuana celebrate it. They do this by smoking, eating, or otherwise ingesting it in amounts that are no greater than normal. But, they take their marijuana with pride, zeal, and publicity.
As a effervescent man about town, I decided to attend a friend’s weed party. It was actually just a normal Friday night, but the usual hangout took on a celebratory affair. Normally it was just a bunch of 30 somethings who got together to commiserate over that week’s failures, non sensical plans for the future, and West World theories. A group comprised neither of Generation X or Millenials, we acted as if we were stuck in an existential crisis of belonging. In reality, we were just bored.
On the balcony, I sat with a medium cup of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee with cream and sugar, a Budweiser tall boy, a vodka tonic, and a couple dozen chocolate chip cookies. I have a complex palate.
My friend Bessie sat next to me and offered me a marijuana pipe. It was fully loaded. With marijuana. It was so loaded, that Bessie told me it was a little clogged.
“That pipe is a little clogged. You’re going to have to hit it loud. But don’t worry. It’s, like, high school weed.”
I took these words to heart and commenced punching the pipe while yelling “Pot!” at it. The pipe shot out of my hand like a volleyball serve and landed neatly on the ground.
Bessie looked at me as if I’d just thrown a certified check for 2.2 million dollars into a blazing fireplace during a heatwave.
“Was that loud enough? Is it still clogged?” “What is high school weed?”
Bessie took the pipe, relit the bowl, and passed it to me. “Just toke on this real hard, like. It’s weak. You’ll need a lot to get buzzed.”
I took the pipe and started to toke. At first this was a difficult process. The pipe was indeed powerful blocked. It took 3 to 4 hard drags before I felt the pipe unclog. I inhaled a massive amount of indo smoke at that moment. I counted 7 total tokes. I wrote this down on part of the balcony because I felt it was important. I knew I would not be able to take the balcony home with me, so I took a picture of the notation on my phone. All life is worth documenting.
I remained completely alert, but I was unable to pay attention to anything. It was as if this huge fog began to roll in on me, but instead of clogging my vision, it made it clearer. I was ready to experience life on an unparalleled level and participate in the most engrossing of conversations. Suddenly, I was taken aback.
“Look at the moon, man. It’s just, like, up there. Look at it! Silly moon!”
I turned to look at Bessie as I made this monumental proclamation. She was steadily inhaling, but took a second to give me the thumbs up. Suddenly, I heard a voice in the sky. It said, “I don’t think I’m being silly at all.”
I turned forward and looked up only to see the moon itself speaking to me. There were no discernible facial features, but it was weaving and gyrating in the sky like a bad animation. But are there any bad animations? More importantly, as a master of the interview arts, I decided to query the moon. But I didn’t know how to start. The moon sensed this.
“You don’t know how to start, do you?”
“Wow. I was just thinking that.”
“As the moon, I am all knowing. And dedicated to fashion.”
“Fashion. Far out, man.”
“Indeed. I am far out.”
“I guess I’d like to know how we can hear and speak to each other.”
“I don’t know.”
“But I thought you’re all knowing.”
“Exactly.”
“…Whoa…”
It was if a great nexus was opened opened up in the space time continuum. There was no piece of knowledge that was unknowable. All was mine to be revealed. With this great power came a sense that I had finally made it. I didn’t know what that meant, but it felt truly titillating. I took a sip of my vodka tonic, experienced the rich morsels of a chocolate chip cookie, and smoothed my palette with some coffee. I felt I was ready to ask the hard hitting questions.
“So, like, you know, are you made of cheese?”
“75% brie and 25% bleu.”
“Bleu? Is that we have blue light at night?’
“You’re catching on.”
“Man, alive. It’s all making sense now. Except…”
“Except what, child?”
“I always thought you were muenster.”
“Muenster cheese has those burnt orange edges. If I had those, I would be the sun.”
“But you’re not the sun. You’re the moon.”
“Precisely.”
“Muenster sure is great in an omelette, though.”
“You have exquisite taste.”
“Thanks, bro.”
I was now referring to a heavenly body as my brethren. I was in rare air. At this point, I reached out to punch Bessie in the arm as friends who make acquaintances with the moon do. But I swung and missed. Bessie was gone. I looked in the door. Bessie was in the middle of the party singing “I’d Do Anything” from the musical Oliver! while a guy in a red and brown plaid shirt next to her was playing the chords for “A Hard Day’s Night” from the Beatles on guitar. A pale white man with long, clean, flowing hair was wearing a tan area rug over his shoulders and waving at people like some head of state or a 1980s era used car salesman. Three women were sitting on a couch throwing brown M&M’s at the opposite wall. A man who was experiencing the onset of patchy beard baldness was rolling around the floor and yelling, “I have to invoke stop, drop, and roll because this party is lit!”
At some point, while I was watching the party unfold in front of me, I had gotten on all fours with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. I turned, crumbled to the the ground, and looked up at my space friend.
“Moon. I think I’ve made some wrong decisions in life.”
“Oh. I think you’ve made quite a few bad decisions in your time.”
“Did I completely waste my life? Is any chance of me being happy just gone? Will I die alone?”
The world had come crashing down around me. The questions that came out of me were soul piercing and full of gravity. Yet, the moon somehow managed to remain in the sky. Its movements slowed and it began to answer. I readied myself for the profound nature of the responses.
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
“To which part?”
“All of it.”
“I have wasted my life. I have no chance at happiness. I will die alone.”
The moon remained silent.
“Moon. Yes to all three?”
“I have been asked and I have answered.”
“Oh. Ok.”
“Look. You seem like a real…person. We’ve had a nice chat. But if you don’t mind, I’m going to talk to those folks down there.”
I instinctively looked off the balcony and saw a small group of people surrounding a young man laying on the ground next to a No-Parking sign and pile of teeth. It appeared the man had walked face first into the sign with so much pep in his step that more than a few of his teeth flew out of his skull.
But let’s get down to brass tacks. From this interaction with moon I learned that I had not only destroyed my own life, but that I was also boring.
I’m not one to editorialize, but in that moment I felt a great sense of self reflection. Maybe I was boring. I had asked those 3 heavy questions of the moon because I wanted someone to dissuade my own feelings on those subjects. I obviously felt that I had wasted my life in a way that was unfixable. Perhaps it was the vodka, cookies, coffee, or the massive amount of weed I had just blown that made me let my guard down. Gone was the serious, good natured guy in control. Present was a wounded soul who needed someone to tell him things were going to be ok.
This was extremely unfair to the moon. That was just some heavy stuff to drop on someone you just met. Also, it reminded me of an important lesson that everyone needs to learn: People suck. Even those people who are in orbit in space and are not people at all.
Sure, I was a sad sack white guy in extreme angst. But there was probably a better way for the moon to handle that instead of simply walking away from the conversation. I don’t know what that is, but almost anything else would have been less dismissive.
It’s usually at this moment where you realize that self reflection can quickly become self importance. Again, the moon really didn’t do anything wrong. But, neither did I. I was just being honest with no fronts. I’m not one for lifting yourself up by your own bootstraps. I don’t even know what that means. I don’t even like wearing boots. And what if the straps break? I’m a rather jolly big guy.
Look. The bottom line here is complex. It’s a simple division problem with a remainder. Sometimes two people can leave an interaction feeling annoyed. But neither person is really responsible for that. You can’t rely on other people to make you happy. You have to stay afloat on your own. And, if you do find someone who can make you feel better without an imposition, man alive, you’ve found someone special. But be prepared. You’ll be let down a lot. No one, no matter how big they are, is going to make you happy or validate you 100% of the time. Sometimes you have to be your own star.