Twenty-five, and counting

I turned 25 last week. Early 20s, goodbye; mid-20s, “Hello, I’m Zac, nice to meet you.”

Next stop, late 20s, and then the dreaded 30 (dun, dun, DUN). I’m sure, it’ll be here before I know it.

I have started to see what everyone was talking about when they told me that time seems to move faster and faster as you get older. Mostly because that’s exactly how I would describe it to someone younger than me.

I had a pleasant birthday. The family, friends and colleagues who called, e-mailed or facebook messaged me ranged from different times and places in my life. The day felt a little like a reunion show of the sitcom of my life.

I enjoy being out of the city on my birthday; it seems to take a lot of the pressure off. Last year, I was editing the Candy Darling documentary in Cherry Valley, NY.

This year, I am working from Shelter Island. I just started editing a new feature-length documentary for Supermarché, a company that I do a lot of work for. It’s very difficult to describe and I’m not really supposed to talk about it, but it’s a mystery/thriller about a fraudulent Internet relationship and it’s very exciting.

On Shelter Island, life has been simpler. There are fewer distractions. It’s easier to do the things that I always talk about doing: getting more exercise, quitting smoking, reading more and eating better. My cell phone rings less, I check my e-mail less, things here feel more wholesome and I wonder if someday I could live full-time in a place like this.

I haven’t smoked a cigarette in four days. And I was at two a day for the week before that. Not too bad, because in the city I was smoking around a pack a day. Here, I hardly think about it.

I’ve been getting more exercise, jogging (which is really very hard), riding a bike and even working out. I am currently nursing sore arms, shoulders and legs. But it’s a good kind of sore. I can understand how some people get addicted to it.

I skinned my knee yesterday during a pretty intense basketball game. Funny, because as I was on the way to the court I was thinking about how it had been kind of a long time since I had hurt myself.

My bloody knee is an interesting reminder as to how fragile our bodies are. One minute, everything is fine. I’m dribbling up the court; the next minute, I am face down, tripped over my opponent, Henry’s, leg, and an awful splat as my hands and knee slap the pavement at the same time.

A moment of confusion, then realization and then pain. A familiar feeling. I finish the game.

The pattern of tiny cuts of my knee form very neat criss-crosses, almost like a waffle iron. In the shower, I watch the red-tinted water swirl down the drain. I think about the last time I skinned my knee—it’s probably been five years, perhaps more.

My knee is stiff as I pour hydrogen peroxide over it and watch it fizz and bubble up.

I smile because it makes me feel young again.

- Zac Stuart-Pontier