I spent the weekend in Vegas. It wasn’t my first time there, but the last time I visited I was 17, so drinking and gambling were both out. I probably never would have made plans to go myself, but my mom and sister were flying in for a concert, and since I live only about 4 hours away, I thought I’d drive over and meet them. I was mildly excited before I left, but I kept thinking to myself that I’m just not a Vegas person. That thought holds some pretensions, but mostly I mean that I’m not the type of person who, you know, does fun things like people do in Vegas. Most of my hobbies involve me being alone and quiet. I don’t go to clubs. I don’t party. I’m lame.
Despite my apprehensions and pretensions, I was determined to have a good time. It was difficult at first. I walked into the hotel and was assaulted by noise and lights and smoke. Somehow I’d nearly forgotten that people smoke. Living in Washington and now California, seeing someone smoke inside or anywhere really, is so foreign. I had to wait a while for my mom and sister to get there, and though I wanted to sit and read, I didn’t want my sister to happen upon me in such an act. She’d be so disappointed. Finally they arrived, and seeing my mom was so worth the wait. Not only do I love her, but she showed up wearing a rhinestone tank top with a Hawaiian shirt over top, black pants, a brown belt, and white tennis shoes. Only a fanny pack could have improved upon the look.
It took me until the next day to get used to the smoke and noise, but it did happen. I started to look around more. I realized that my generic GAP/Old Navy/American Eagle uniform made me one of the better dressed. I took pride in this. Then I went to the pool, and everyone was wearing bathing suits, though only about 3.435% of them had bikini bodies. I figured if they were comfortable dressed so scantly, then I could be comfortable wearing a tank top (I know, gasp!). My sister bought me a drink, and, like everyone else, I carried it around with me as we walked down the strip.
Vegas was working on me. It was slowly persuading me not to take myself so seriously. I never abandoned my need to wear matching clothing, but by the day we left, I felt comfortable out at the pool in my swim suit for the first time in years. Vegas feels refreshingly honest to me somehow. At home we pretend we’ve got everything together, but in Vegas there’s no shame in letting it all hang out. At least, that was my experience this weekend. I went in with expectations that were then flipped upside down.
It’s one of my goals to live more honestly and be more comfortable with myself. I just didn’t expect to make progress in Vegas.
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