I went to a dinner last night with a number of my good college friends. It was a birthday dinner for my friend who turned 34 yesterday. Two other friends at the table turned 34 in the last month, and I last August. In my opinion, we all look more beautiful, more classy, than we did at 18 when we met.

There were about 14 people at our table, and when the waiter dropped the bill, everyone started doing the math and throwing in their bills and cards for their portion. It was a minor mess. My freshman year roommate looks at me and says, “Will there ever be a time when one of us will just be able to drop their card, and say, ‘I got this’?”

My response: Yes.

Perhaps I was drunk on Sprite and gourmet pizza. Perhaps I was drunk on good company. But I took a peripheral glance at the lovely ladies at the table and I had hope for us and our [still struggling] financial situations. My freshman year roommate will be successful with her event planning business. Our next-door-neighbor freshman friend will continue being an investor and entrepreneur, and maybe keep teaching at NYC’s top preschool. The recently-made mommy sitting next to me who was in our Drama 101 class will find inspiration from mommy-hood and move up the business ladder, whether she stays at her present corporate career, or not. The accomplished theater director will be recognized for her incredible talent and drive and be hired to direct some of the hottest off-broadway experimental plays in New York. The lawyer? Yeah, she’s doing fine.

And me? I’m going to find an agent. I’m going to sell one of my screenplays. A theater company is going to produce one of my plays. And I’m going out and buying me some new boots.

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