I’m Going to buy a Trench Coat

On memory, happiness & personal style

When I was in Austin, Texas I remember feeling happier than I’d ever felt in my entire life. I distinctly remember having the thought that I was so happy, it was extremely plausible that I’d never be that happy again. 

I was 27 years old. I was on vacation with two of my best friends; a vacation I barely had to finance: I was flown out first class by my employer and put up in my own 5 star hotel room. I was on break from starring in a movie, so the constant anxiety of money wasn’t one, for once. I had just started falling for my last boyfriend who was falling for me too. I was in such good shape that I was waking up early after binge drinking, going for runs and doing aerials along Sixth Street. It was back when smoking weed was still fun, right before it started triggering terrifying derealization. It was where and when I tried on every hat in a gift shop downtown and Allie overheard another tourist say to his friend that I was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. It was where and when I purchased the only three souvenirs I’ve ever actually gone on to use: two shot glasses and a plastic cowboy hat. Oh, that glorious, iconic cowboy hat. I actually finally lost that cowboy hat last month, marking the end of an era. Good riddance, honestly. In the year and a half that I owned that cowboy hat, I probably got more use out of it than anyone who has ever bought a plastic souvenir cowboy hat in a gift shop on Sixth Street, ever. 

I may not be right about that, but I know that I am right about one thing: I have not been that happy since. 

If that was my peak, it was a good one. I remember feeling like that sort of happiness was unsustainable anyway. As well as I remember the feeling itself I remember the context of my mindset surrounding it: I wasn’t actually scared of never being that happy again. I felt lucky that I got to feel that way at all. 

It was around the time I started believing in God, because I figured he had to be real if my life was that good.

It was also when I was on medication.

…

Do you ever find it weird which memories your mind chooses to hold onto? It’s always a snippet, a moment, a smell, a feeling, something that feels unimportant, something that - even in retrospect - is impossible to decipher the significance of. Like, can anyone tell me why the only moment I remember from my family vacation to Scotland in 2008 is being in the hotel and yearning to go to the onsite waterpark? I know that we went to the waterpark but I have zero recollection of actually being in the waterpark, only the memory of yearning to go.

I don’t know why it’s always these memories that stick. It makes me wonder if all of these seemingly meaningless moments will add up to something coherent in the end, and when I get to heaven (where I’m definitely going btw) they will all finally become comprehensible. I’ll realize I was made to notice all those random little details for a reason; like a movie, my life is catapulting me toward an unpredictable yet inevitable conclusion. An ending that laces these memories with all the dreams that never made any sense and ceremoniously reveals the Meaning of Life.

Sometimes I find myself experiencing something and begging every cell in my body to hang onto the memory; praying that my desire to remember be consummated. It never is. I basically already know that if I have to plead my body to hold onto a memory it’s one that will slip away. Whenever I’ve formed a lasting memory, however innocuous, I knew in the moment that it would become one.  

This is part of why I started journaling. It’s always a slog but always worth it when I can revisit a memory years later, travel back in time, all because I forced myself to painstakingly transcribe the plot points of a given event.

Texas wasn’t that long ago, so while I still remember most of the plot points, I know that besides the memory of recognizing my abundant happiness, the other moment I’ll never forget with or without a journal is when I got to meet my employer for the first time. We were at the Letterkenny Live theatre show, which Jared ended with a personal shout out to me and Allie. I was wearing what I at that point considered to be the sexiest, most flattering thing I could ever possibly wear: a cheap Brandy Melville tank, thin and pilling Aerie yoga pants, fingerless gloves, and my brand-new plastic cowboy hat. Yes, the perfect outfit for a theatre show, I’m so glad you agree; the perfect outfit to finally meet the employer who changed my life. 

Backstage I hugged both Jared and his co-star Nathan, and the first thing Nathan said to me post-hug was, “I like your get-up.” He called my outfit a “Get-up”. I will never not find that funny. That night we drank alcohol and smoked cigarettes in a five star hotel room and at 3am I made Jared FaceTime my mom to tell her how amazing I am. He obliged, but I was drunk, so I don’t really remember it. Hopefully my mom does.