On Tuesday this week, I found myself sitting in the Omni Severin Hotel in downtown Indianapolis drinking an exorbitantly priced Gumball Head and reminiscing on the four years I once called the Circle City home. I was there for a work conference and purposely decided not to tell anyone I know who lives in Indy I was in town. I needed to be alone and thought perhaps I could use some of my time to reflect on the good old days; the days when I didn’t have a child or a mortgage or any semblance of what being a grown ass adult entailed.
Rod and I lived in Indianapolis from 2006 to 2010. We were 24 and 26, respectively, and began our lives there post Ball State. He started his career at the United States Postal Service just outside the city in Fishers, Indiana, and I started my career in communications at an advertising agency downtown. My office was first located above the world famous St. Elmo Steakhouse and later moved to the outskirts of Mass Ave, two of the most identifiable landmarks in town.
We were young. We were gorgeous. We were broke. We were oblivious. We were also happier than happy could be – mostly because we were drunk nearly all the time and rarely suffered from the unbelievably debilitating hangovers we now grapple with in our late 30s. It was glorious.
Aside from the hotel and the conference, the only destination on my 24-hour trip was to Harry & Izzy’s, a restaurant I once lunched at regularly and always charged to the firm (I still feel very little guilt about these expenses). Years ago, I habitually ordered a Caesar Salad, fries, and spicy Asian shrimp. The latter was always “for the table,” but in all honesty, I could eat most of them without a problem. Sure, the world-renowned shrimp cocktail at St. Elmo’s sister restaurant is to die for, but it also loses its appeal after about the 40th time your nose hairs crumple into an angry ball from the sauce’s unadulterated horseradish. On Tuesday though, I only ordered the spicy Asian shrimp and a cocktail. I’m a lady now.
The restaurant, like the Omni, wasn’t nearly as a luxurious as I remember. The décor is the same, sure. The napkins still crisp, the silverware still heavier than necessary. The bartenders, now tattooed zygotes, are still kind and well-trained (they repeatedly referred to me as “miss” instead of “ma’am,” which will consistently earn anyone praise and an extra tip). Still, it lacked the excitement and intrigue I once associated with H&I. Perhaps it was because I was footing my own bill or that I was dining at approximately 5 p.m. because I was tired and eager to get back to my room and take off my bra. Regardless, it somehow struck me as less than and I know deep down it’s because I’m no longer 25 and there’s nothing any great restaurant can do to fix that.
I opted for a walk after my meal, partly because I wanted to see how much had changed downtown, but also because I wanted to find carryout beer. Hence, the overpriced Gumball Head I eventually picked up from the convenience store next to The Pub, another former haunt.
On my way, I saw a few young professionals wobbling in high heels and the disgruntled faces of others who were likely thinking, I’m too old for this shit. I get it, ladies, I think, as I walk on by in my flats – shoes I never would have been caught wearing 10 or so years ago when I moved here as a recent college grad.
I also saw a lot of LYFT signage, a variety of new bars, and excessive advertisements for tacos. I love tacos, but on my walk, I experienced a stinging sense of awareness that these tacos weren’t for me. At least not anymore. These tacos are for the girls who still have yet to feel comfortable in their clothes. The ladies who need to complain about their roommates. The ones who can’t wait to get off work and bitch about their bosses. Get your tacos, girls. You deserve them.
In the time since we left Indy and moved to Mishawaka, we bought a house, had a child, and I left the agency. We also entered some kind of early to mid-30s time warp that involved losing complete touch with the changing times and the evolution of a great city like Indianapolis.
I suppose we evolved too – into parents, into responsible-ish adults, into people who are too consumed with our own day-to-day lives to think about new trends, music, or the latest taco fads. I’m sure our friends who stayed in Indy to start families experienced similar transitions, but my guess is their lives never felt quite as removed as ours. In their day-to-day lives, they can still see the changing signage, hear the new music, and experience trendy tacos. The lack of development in Mishawaka, the “Princess City,” has caused us in many ways not to advance with the times, to stay in exactly the same mindset about transportation, music, and good old ground beef tacos.
I miss my old life, yes. But mostly, I miss my 20s. I miss having very little responsibility. I miss not having progressed enough to question my own antics. I miss charging indulgent meals to a company. I miss not taking vitamins. I miss my ignorance.
What I don’t miss are my feet hurting from walking long distances in high heels or constantly complaining about my boss. I don’t miss not feeling comfortable in my own skin, and I really don’t miss only thinking about myself.
I wonder whether I would still be cool-ish if I still lived in Indy. Probably not. If all of the things that have happened in my life in the last 10 years occurred in Indianapolis instead of Mishawaka, I’d probably still be taking cabs, listening to classic rock, and eating questionable meat out of flour tortillas. And that’s OK. I can reminisce, yes. I can imagine. I can question my life from the comfort of a once alluring hotel room and then come home to a life I created in a city I don’t love but to a husband and a son I do. And that, I think, is the real testament of time well spent.
