Birthday presence

My knees were having trouble absorbing the shock that came from my flip-flops banging against the hard pavement on a steep walk down the hills of Cinque Terre, Italy. The quaint, bright buildings no longer showed their beautiful array of colors in the dark streets, which managed to be a bit eerie at 11 p.m. compared to their daytime charm. It didn't help that Manarola, the village I was staying in for five days, went to bed early. I walked at least 200 of the 300 meters or so it takes to get to the waterfront before seeing a face. As I reached the bottom of the hill, a few people, mostly couples, were finishing off the last bits of their local wine before calling it a night. The majority of the other guests were likely fast asleep, ready to rise early in the morning to get a good start on one of the many breathtaking hikes the area offered. After having a handful of drinks in the early evening, Jordan had been out cold for over an hour. I wouldn't let myself go to bed before midnight. I didn't want to be sleeping when my 23rd birthday arrived, so I decided to take a walk.

***

I reached the very edge of the village, which overlooks the Mediterranean. The sea also seemed to have gone to sleep as calm as it was. I gripped the cool railing. A dark abyss lay in front of me and a clear sky above. Birthdays being a common time for introspection, I found myself staring out into the endless stretches of open water and open galaxy, lost in thought.

My most recent few birthday celebrations have featured beers, meaning the introspection has been a bit affected by over consumption. Twenty-two (which fell on the same day as college graduation) was brought in with my worst hangover to date, keeping me from eating my parents' home cooking and doing much thinking at all, aside from timing my trips to the toilet accurately. On the younger-year birthdays, deep thinking meant how I would go about designing the best couch fort. But 23 came with a unique set of circumstances. I hadn't had a drink in days. I had been going for runs every evening and cliff jumping, hiking, and reading in the daytime, so my mind was crisp when it came time for a bit of reflection. I don't recall ever being so aware of my own presence. I found myself talking aloud, saying a bit of a personal creed. My sanity remained intact enough to the point where when people would pass by, I would put a brief halt to my one-person conversation.

I thought about the man I was and the person I wanted to be. Jordan had asked me recently what I thought the worst thing a person could say about me was. I answered, "He doesn't care about anybody but himself." She followed up the unpleasant thought with a positive one. "And the best?" I answered something of the opposite: "He would do anything for anybody." My babbling creed stemmed from the answers to these questions.

The earth had taken another revolution around the sun, and who had I become? What was it that I wanted out of this life? It seems deep, but I can get deep. I searched my mind for meaning. I searched the sky for some sort of sign. I thought I saw a shooting star streak across the black background, but it could have possibly just been a bug flying by, reflecting the streetlights. I wasn't that superstitious. I didn't need signs. I needed to relax.

I wandered around to see if any cafes were still open for business. I found one overlooking the water. I ordered a glass of red wine and took a seat.

It was my first birthday away from Iowa, away from family and dear friends. I wouldn't be eating my parents' home cooking this year either, but for different reasons. I was on the other side of the world. I sat alone, still staring out at the sea. A pair of girls walked by and giggled. This means one of two things: They thought I was cute or awkward. Either way they continued up the hill. It didn't seem like much of a birthday. It simply felt like another day. But there had to be a bit more to it than that.

***

I walked to the counter to order my second and final glass of wine, which would last me until midnight struck. I passed by the two people I had been eavesdropping on in between my thoughts. I don't know what sparked it, possibly loneliness, but after exchanging a friendly hello with the couple, I blurted out, "I'm just waiting until my birthday at midnight." It would appear I wanted attention, but I was really enjoying my time alone. So when they invited me to join their table, I regretted opening my mouth.

Claudio, the 50-something Italian man, and Eef, the 20-something Dutch girl, sat among the remnants of a late dinner. I felt as if I was interrupting a very unusual date, but it was them who invited me to pull up a chair. We chatted about the usual -- who are you, what are you doing here, and where are you going? After several minutes of discussion I asked Claudio for the time since I don't ever have my own access to it. "11:40. About 20 minutes," he said, pretending to be equally anxious to the approach of a stranger's birthday. The funny thing is that on the inside we were sharing a similar feeling of not caring much at all. This one didn't have the same meaning without loved ones around.

Eef apologized that her hostel had a midnight curfew and she would not be able to celebrate with me. It appeared her and Claudio weren't the peculiar item I figured them to be since he stayed behind. I awkwardly became Claudio's new dinner date. Being several years older, he felt comfortable sharing a bit of wisdom with me. He encouraged me to learn a new language and really discover the places I go. I made a joke about being from Iowa, something I always regrettably do as a sort of icebreaker even though I love my home state. He told me to be proud of where I came from. I was. I just needed to show it more I guess.

I told him how I had the idea to watch the sunrise and sunset on my birthday and asked him what time I should expect the sun to come out of hiding.

"About six, but with all these hills, it isn't much of a sight," he said.

"Well, I don't have an alarm clock anyway, so I suppose I better not count on it."

"Okay, well it's time," Claudio said as we toasted our glasses and I sipped the small pool of wine I was saving for the celebration -- if you can call it that.

It didn't seem like the 20 minutes had passed. I shook Claudio's hand and began my ascent up the hill, this time the front of my thighs feeling the effects of the steep grade. I remained in a deep, philosophical mood. I wanted to put my creed into action. I wanted to do something to prove I had matured, and that I cared about others more than myself. But there was no one around to carry groceries for or give a smile to. I suppose that type of thing has to come naturally rather than forcing it anyway. I always get these ideas that I can instantly become a better person with the snap of a finger, in some fictitious, magical sort of way. I think I've seen too many movies like Phenomenon or Rocky IV in which the characters change in movie time rather than real time -- their muscles becoming more ripped and their piles of finished books being tossed to the side in a matter of a couple hours. I suppose becoming better has nothing to do with biceps or concepts anyway. The only things that really matter are to love and to be loved. I was overthinking this. Only sleep could cure my overactive mind.

I passed by the only open bar and saw Eef through the window playing guitar with a guy much younger than Claudio, and obviously more interesting than the birthday boy that night. It appeared her curfew was not all that strict. She hadn't see me, which was good. I didn't want her to feel embarrassed for getting caught lying.

After a ten-minute walk, I arrived to the guest house. The lemons on the tree in the garden seemed to glow from their reflection of the porch light. I quietly opened the door and flipped on my computer to check the time. I knew it. It was only exactly midnight just then. Claudio must have felt he didn't have much more to say to this stranger and, knowing I didn't have access to the time, called for a premature celebration.

Oh well. These strangers had been courteous, but they weren't my good friends or family. I suppose on this night of reflection they helped me to realize this. Realize that although Cinque Terre was the most stunning place I'd ever seen, I knew where I'd rather be on that night. Or who I'd rather be with for that matter. Simply, I knew what was important.

And since Iowa doesn't have mountains, I could have seen the sunrise that morning had I been there. My parents could have woken me up for it. Although, my friends likely would have kept me out all night.