Some of the most romantic moments in my life have happened by the water.
There was the summer before high school when my on-again, off-again boyfriend and I once more became on-again after swimming in Lake Pend Oreille during a thunderstorm and sharing what is (still) the best "getting-back-together" kiss I've ever experienced. While being in the water is not necessarily the smartest decision to make in the middle of a severe storm, the memory and sweetness of that kiss helped us cling onto our on-again, off-again status for the next two years.
Then, of course, there was my first anniversary with the guy who I suppose could now be referred to as my high school sweetheart. Considering we were together for over two years in high school and another year long-distance after I'd moved to Indiana, I'd say he is well-deserving of the title. On our one year anniversary, we went to the lifeguard stand on the beach where we'd sat on one of our first dates. After talking for awhile on the stand, we moved down closer to the water to end up on a huge pile of sand. Eventually, in a move that initially confused me greatly, he began digging furiously at the pile we were sitting on... only to uncover his violin case, equipped with candles and the instrument he strummed like a guitar to play a song he'd written for me. Although the night ended with him accidentally dripping hot wax down my leg, I still have the candles (and, also, a wax scar) he'd inscribed with a G and a J encircled in a heart and always feel particularly nostalgic thinking about the water from that specific view.
And, then, there was this July.
I'd traveled to Connecticut along with a few of my cousins and Zach to go to an all-day music festival held on the beach which, really, is just an excuse for cops to turn a blind eye toward the open container law for a day. At one point pretty far into our beer consumption, we were at the front of the stage when Zach looked at me and said, "Let's do something stupid."
#notdating and, also, not a romantic moment
I said okay, then turned to my right and immediately kissed the hipster with the man-bun next to me.
Due to my intense love of man-buns, this turned out actually not to be a stupid decision, but a very, very smart one. After the hipster and I had finished kissing (and, after Zach had walked away, muttering something about how he meant shot-gunning beers and eating grapes in the ocean), I stuck out my hand and introduced myself. Because we were dancing up at the front of the stage, the music was loud, but I caught his name and his invitation to join him and his friends for watermelon and beer at their tent. An avid fan of both watermelon and beer, I enthusiastically agreed.
The two of us walked past the live music and stage to reach his tent and his friends, who were as nice and as hipster as him. As we all laid on their blanket, chatting and sharing beers, we realized the weather was getting cooler and nighttime was approaching fast. Eager to get in the ocean one last time before heading back to New York City, the hipster with the man-bun and I decided to go swimming.
We were out there in the ocean for awhile -- learning about each other's lives, interests and (obviously, considering how we'd met) occasionally kissing. At one point, we stood quietly, holding hands waist-deep in the water and facing the sand, overlooking what had to be the most beautiful sunset I've ever seen. It was honestly gorgeous and, though we'd really only met perhaps less than an hour before, the entire situation was very romantic, a fact we both felt comfortable verbalizing.
"Wow," I told him, looking at all the colors in the sky that may have possibly been amplified by my beer consumption, but were beautiful nonetheless. "What makes this even better is we're the only two people even in the ocean experiencing this right now."
And, it was true. As we looked to our left and right in the darkening light, we were alone in the water. Everyone else at the concert was enjoying the sunset from the land, making the moment feel even more romantic...
... that is until shouts from about a football field's length away took the hot ocean hipster's attention off my face and, instead, over to the left where the sound was coming from.
As it would turn out, the hot ocean hipster and I had been mistaken. We were not the only two people in the ocean. There were another pair of people still swimming, though even from that far away, it was clear the two men were not a couple.
It was also clear they were maybe about to drown.
As the hot ocean hipster began to externally debate whether he should go help save them or if the people gathering on the shore close to them were going to help pull the men out of the water, it became obvious to me the romantic moment was over. Half-glaring, half-squinting over at the two guys, it also became apparent that one of the potential drowning victims was Zach Groth.
True to form, he is an expert at ruining my life.
Once we'd gotten out of the water, we'd exchanged numbers, but even so, I was pretty sure I'd never hear from the hot ocean hipster again. Considering he lives in Connecticut and, although it's only an hour by train from where I live in Manhattan, it might as well be another planet when it comes to relationships. But, I was pleasantly surprised a few weeks ago when I got out of a yoga class and had a long text from him, describing both the apple cider whiskey he'd been brewing as well as his plans to come to NYC for a show that weekend.
From his text, I got the sense he would possibly be interested in seeing me while he was in New York. I also got the sense he definitely thought my name was Jessica.
This is mostly because he started off his message with "Hey, Jessica!"
Despite the name mix-up, I was still pretty interested in seeing him because, hi, he's a hot ocean hipster and I'll give anyone with a man-bun the benefit of the doubt when they explain they heard me say my name was "Jessica Brandato." So, after I'd pointed out what my real name actually was, we made tentative plans to try to get together after his concert.
Then, like every event in my life, I immediately text Zach and Ashley in all caps.
It's important to note that when I sent just a singular text of "GUYS!," the spilling-wine-in-bed comment was Zach's initial reaction.
The same day the hot ocean hipster was planning on coming to the city coincided with the day I felt the most alone I've ever felt here. Before I moved to New York, I'd heard it was going to be a lonely experience -- most of the people I know here had all gone through some sort of period where they felt very alone. I, however, had the complete opposite reaction. When I settled down in Manhattan, I transported myself directly into a tightly-knit support group made up of both my cousins and close friends from both Indiana and Idaho who already lived here. But, for some reason on that Friday, I felt a small, teeny-tiny sliver of the loneliness I'd heard so much about.
Though in reality the only people who had left the city were Chelsea and Zach, I felt as if everyone I knew had abandoned me for the weekend. This was disheartening. As I walked out of my yoga studio in Flatiron that afternoon, I hadn't heard from the hot ocean hipster and thus realized I had absolutely no upcoming plans for the evening. So, despite my studio being more than 50 blocks and seven avenues away from my apartment, I began walking home.
I'd gotten about 35 blocks into my not-necessarily-feeling-sorry-for-myself-but-feeling-kind-of-sad walk, when my cousin Jenna text me, asking if I'd like to have dinner with her, her boyfriend and one of our other cousins. Almost immediately after I'd enthusiastically replied yes and started heading to her apartment, I got a text from the hot ocean hipster, inviting me to the concert's afterparty at Webster Hall.
Literally, in the span of 45 seconds, I went from having zero plans to a fully booked evening. This is what my life is like in New York City.
Jenna and Kyle had just moved into their new apartment, so when I got there, they took me on the full-tour of their building and I almost cried on six different occasions because it was so beautiful. Then, when my other cousin arrived, the four of us headed to Bar Coastal, the bar by my apartment Zach and I frequent often, though it's usually when we are in some sort of distress, as in the time I left my cell phone in a cab or when he realized I didn't have MTV during the Music Awards. (The amount of emotion we showed for the two very separate, very different events was irrationally equal).
Catching up with my cousins was lovely and dinner was fantastic. Just seeing them helped combat the loneliness I'd been feeling early-on in the day and, in that moment, I felt so lucky to live close to my family. As we were wrapping up with our meal, I checked my phone to see the hot ocean hipster had text me to let me know he'd gotten me on the list for the afterparty and, also, that it was '90s themed.
There's little-to-nothing I love more than '90s music and free things, so I soon found myself in a car on my way to Webster Hall. On my way there, though, I began to realize how bizarre it was that I was going to go meet someone I'd met for maybe an hour once when we'd kissed in the ocean.
Obviously, I started texting Zach and Ashley.
Also, though I was fully aware I was going to a '90s party, I hadn't actually put any thought into a '90s outfit. Luckily, I dress every day as if I am perpetually stuck in 1999, so when I showed up with my ripped black jeans, half ponytail and men's white shirt with a jean jacket tied around my waist, I fit in perfectly.
It also happened to be the exact same outfit the hot ocean hipster was wearing.
Building off our matching outfits, the rest of our evening was fabulous. It turns out the hot ocean hipster's friend from high school was the lead singer of the '90s cover band and, so we not only received free beer, but he got to go up on stage and I maybe got a rush of the angsty emotions I'd had in middle school when they played Third Eye Blind. We stayed at Webster Hall until well after the show and, when we did leave, the two of us parted amicably at Grand Central -- the hot ocean hipster returning back to Connecticut and I to the Upper East Side, smugly satisfied with how my evening had turned out.
Lying in bed that night, I thought back on how lonely I'd felt previously in the day. And, in that moment, I realized how lucky I am -- not only to live in New York City, but to live in New York City surrounded by people who genuinely love and care about me (or, at least want to hang out with me some of the time). Whether it's getting an impromptu dinner with family or meeting up with a hot hipster whom you sincerely hope will not murder you, taking advantage of living in New York City and welcoming those new experiences seems to be the best way to combat that tiny, tiny sliver of loneliness I'd felt.
And, you know what? I think I can deal with that...
... especially if there are more man-buns involved.