I don’t smoke.

It’s one of those nights. You know, the kind of night where you didn’t plan on ending up where you found yourself. Kind of night where for some reason you’re in a situation that you never expected to be in. For me, it’s the kind of night where you find yourself standing on the balcony of an expensive apartment in West Philadelphia while a party rages on in the background. Earlier your friend had promised you it would be a good time. A promise they’ve made to you so many times before you can’t even count. They had begged you on the phone to go. You tell yourself that you’re doing it as a favor to them, but in reality, it beat staying at home. The only course of action being a few beers, reading that novel you’ve been putting off for far too long, being on the internet going down the rabbit hole of random videos for hours, or rewatching that film you’ve seen a dozen times before. Yeah, one of those nights.

The drink in my hand is cold, freshly made. My friend is gone, no doubt amidst the crowd of strangers inside. A few stragglers are outside on the large balcony with me, some enjoying small talk, others having a cigarette, or like me looking out enjoying the view of the night.

“I haven’t seen you before.” The voice is soft but had a firmness despite that. I turn and am greeted by a pair of what I make out to be, green eyes.

“Likewise.” I take a swig of the drink. Blonde hair falls to her shoulders. She’s tall, older than me but not by much. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, Marlboro I recall. She places one in her mouth and lights it up. She holds out the pack towards me.

“I don’t smoke.” She puts the cigarette pack in her pocket.

I’m sure you’ve been here before, you know how this works. Casual flirting with a stranger, a joke here and there, superfluous information about one another that you’ll forget the moment they leave your sight. You don’t ask their name, not because you didn’t care to wonder, but because it won’t matter in the morning. Eventually after a few minutes the cigarette and the conversation meet their natural endpoint.

“Well I better get back in there, my friends are probably wondering where I went. Come find me when you’re done.” She tosses the smoke over the balcony and leaves. I watch as she opens the sliding glass door and the hypnotic music roars out. The people inside dancing, drinking, and screaming the night away. She steps through and the door shuts behind her. The music is now a low rumble and I’m left alone.

I used to hate nights like this. A small part of me still does if I’m honest. When I was a teenager being dragged to the endless random parties, bonfires, hangouts from friends when we were all looking for that “great” night. I remember how I used to get anxious and wonder what these people would think of me. If what I was saying and doing was appropriate for the occasion. Did they like me? Was I too angry? Too tainted? Would she remember me tomorrow? That stopped after a while because by the morning, their faces would fade away through the sluggish memories of what had transpired that night. Like they had merely slipped away through a sliding glass door in your mind.

In front of me is the skyline of Philadelphia. An ocean of orange gaslights mixed with angelic white ones lay before me. Center city skyscrapers rise high above the festivities of the night. Off to the right I can see smoke rise from a refinery and near it the shipyard with its cargo coming in from the Atlantic. I remember when I was younger I used to wonder about what those containers held. What secrets did they carry? Where did the ships hail from? I used to walk through the city streets and wonder where the people walking by were going. What were their lives like? What was that construction worker doing after he clocks out for the day? Is the mother walking with her two kids truly happy? How did that lawyer end up in this city? I used to wonder about people’s stories. Their choices. But that was years ago.

Now it’s the middle of August and I’m about to enter my junior year of college. I’m twenty years old. I don’t wonder about what’s out in the world anymore. I don’t think about the lives and decisions of others. I don’t wonder anymore about the potential stories that the world can give. When I was a kid I used to wonder what type of person I would be like when I reached my twenties. Well, I finally got an answer. Tonight, I’m just another guy at a party with a drink in his hand like so many nights before.

If you’re like me then by the time you enter your twenties you’ve probably started to wonder more about who you are in a way you didn’t in the past. Questions of what I want, what I’m good at, and what matters to me permeate more than anything. You feel like you’re at this junction, that there’s no real straight path anymore. Like you’re stuck in a party full of strangers, and you don’t have a clear view of the exit. You spend sleepless nights getting nostalgic about years that seem like a lifetime ago, thinking of lost loves and old friends. What could have been or what might have happened if different decisions were made. You stare at the scars on your hands from the days when you would constantly fight to prove your worth to the people around you. Yet, they're still gone and you're only left with solemn memories. But time carries on and so do you. You keep busy, go to school, go to work, go to the gym, killing time any way you can, all while waiting for something “great” to happen. You used to look out in the world and think about what opportunities it might offer you. Then you slowly start to realize it doesn’t. The world isn’t supposed to give you solace or grand explanations. It's only there to give you a foundation. It puts you in situations and experiences that you learn to grow from. And after years of those experiences you’ve now become molded as a person.

That person is not a perfect one. It’s not supposed to be. You might not be the brightest, most attractive, the person with the highest ambition, or not even the kindest person, but that doesn’t matter. Because this is who you are. It’s real. And that person who you’ve become has just entered into this new decade of their life. One where there is the crushing sense of possibility. Anything can happen if you want it to. Each moment is now what you make of it. Each decision and consequence yours to own. Ones that will both define and haunt you. Each and every night now has the possibility of being a "great" one or just another one of those nights solely depending on if you want it to be. Some days that's simply too much for you to handle and on others, it's exactly what gets you out of bed in the morning.

You don’t wonder what’s out in the world anymore because now in your twenties you start to understand that the value of true beauty and moments of joy are held in the smaller moments. Not the great ones you’ve been searching for or the ones you were told would eventually happen. It’s not a majestic dawn at a beach or the sight of rolling green hills in the spring. It’s not getting that dream job or that new car, having the house in the hills, or falling in that mythical love that every song blares at you to search for. It’s being with those friends that pulled you into those crazed situations, taking a walk down a city street while its busy, savoring that favorite meal, rewatching your favorite film again, or enjoying that time spent with a stranger whose green eyes held your attention for just the briefest of moments. The next decade is about showing the world that person you've become and embracing all that it throws at you. The great and the low.

I put the drink down on the ledge. The skyline still sits there like a perfect illusion. One that will still be there in the morning. I turn and open the sliding glass door and make my way back inside. Different color lights strobe inside violently, dozens of bodies cling together dancing while others make the best of the night in their own way. I move through the crowd looking for any sight of my friend. It’s time to head home.

“Hey you!” I hear a voice shout above the rhythmic lyrics of the song.

Off to the side of the room I see a young woman waving me over. She’s tall, older than me but not by much. Blonde hair falls to her shoulders. I walk over to her and she leans in close. Through the flashes of light I can make out what seems to be, a pair of green eyes looking back at me.

“So my friends are heading out and I’m about to grab another smoke. You wanna come?” She smiles through the darkness and waits for my answer.

I don’t smoke. But tonight I think I’ll make an exception.