The Longest Day of the Year - A Day Late

Time On My Side

Yesterday was the summer solstice—the longest, brightest day of the year. A perfectly lit stretch of hours across the northern hemisphere begging you to make the most of it.

For as long as I can remember, time has been my greatest obsession. When I was 8, I longed to be a teenager, dying to quantum leap into the world of bras, boys, and rated R movies. As a teenager, all I wanted was to be 21, in the club with a shipping heir boyfriend and a Balenciaga City Bag (to clarify…I still have this fantasy)—leaving behind the existential dread of a fake ID and having to eat a colossal scoop of peanut butter every time I came home from a night out so my mom wouldn't smell the debauchery on my breath. When I turned 21, I was positive my entire life would be figured out and complete at 26 when I was living my Andie Anderson reverie—complete with a Nolita apartment with a walk-in closet that was basically Barneys. And then, once I arrived at that magic number, I, like anyone else whose dermatologist has recommended an 'adult skincare routine', was suddenly desperate for the clock to slow down, furious at Jenna Rink for selling us all on the idea of "thirty, flirty, and thriving."

GP in a Panthère de Cartier sometime during the 90’s. You can’t buy time, but owning one of these bad boys is my type of tick-tock. Chic + on my wish list.

The longest day of the year comes at a juncture in my life where my biggest question is: what exactly do I want to do with my time? I've made peace with the things I can't control, swallowed the Pinterest-laced prescription "trust the timing of your life." I say this in jest, but on most days I really do believe this…I don't know much and I don't pretend to know much, but what's truly been meant for me has never once missed me. But yet, here I am still glaring down the metaphorical mirror and its subtle interrogation. Where am I most useful without being complacent? And most importantly, what experiences and opportunities will make me unlock parts of myself I didn't even know were possible—that seismic shift 8-year-old me so desperately craved, but make it 30-something.

Last night a former intern texted me about having just graduated college. She told me she felt lost, a typical way to be in the sea of post-grad blues. My immediate reaction was to message back: "Book a one-way ticket to Ibiza and call me when you're 24!" But I remember those times—your mind doing figure eights, restless to be introduced to the person you know you're supposed to become. I used to spend hours lapping downtown Manhattan, starting on Waverly Place until it collided with Bank Street, pacing through the West Village, making a left on Hudson, peeking into bars and townhomes, convinced every single person popped out of bed each morning with each piece of the puzzle completely understood. Before I knew it, I would find myself in TriBeCa, staring down Balloon Saloon just before turning north and tiptoeing home, ruminating on how the hell I am ever going to find a job that not only pays enough, but sets me on a path where one day I can buy the children I may never even have a $300 balloon bouquet.

Ashley Olsen wearing a yellow gold Rolex Day Date. I think about this watch a lot because it has a navy dial- can’t explain it but it’s always stuck out to me. LOVE. I’d bet you anything these icons feel just as strapped for time as the rest of us.

Bursting with empathy, I texted her back: "You will look back and wish you had not stressed as much—you have your entire life ahead of you." Pressing send, a full decade older than the person on the other end, passing along the exact truth I needed to remind myself.

Anyone who has ever been a parent will tell you 'the days are long, but the years are short', babbling on about the two years of life that were completely blacked out by teething rings and sleep training, only to reiterate how mind-blowing it is to see the person they created wheeling and dealing in the real world. It was all worth it. As I sit here basking in the aftermath of the summer solstice, a few eras of my life already accounted for (if we’re talking in Taylor Swift lexicon…I’m probably somewhere between ‘Red’ and ‘1989’), with a bunch more still left to go, I'm finally starting to get the memo that this sentiment applies to every last one of us.