Sweeter than Fiction: A Taylor Swift Fic

Chapter 6: It Could Stay This Simple

Twenty-four. I sat on my hotel balcony, my notebook on my lap, open to a page with just those two words written on it. I had a few hours to myself this morning, before the fun and festivities really kicked off. My “Australian Birthday Extravaganza, Never to Be Forgotten,” as the gang was calling it. And if it was anything like the past few weeks here, there’s no way I could. Part of me always felt completely at home down under, despite being born and raised half a world away. So I didn’t mind much that I wouldn’t be home in Nashville, or in L.A., for the big 2-4. Last night’s stadium full of people singing me happy birthday didn’t hurt, either. 

I propped my feet up on the balcony, making sure my dress tucked primly under my legs just in case some paps were loitering outside still with their super zoom lenses, but it was still a bit early to be worrying about that crowd. I’d hoped to be hit with inspiration for a song this morning, but as always trying to force the “muse” to visit me resulted in a blank page and a wandering mind. All I could focus on were those numbers: twenty-four. How did I get so old so fast??

I decided to make two lists, and I started with one that listed all the things I was grateful for, to have in my life at — relatively — such a young age. My pen couldn’t move fast enough to keep up with my brain, as my family and friends popped into my mind, the Swifties worldwide, memories of the places I’ve been all over the world, things I’ve seen, people I’ve met. Writing, recording . . . being the one to call the shots. I hit twenty-four items in a flash — and gave myself a bit of a hand cramp in the process. I could hear my mom telling me not to grip my pen so hard; funny how at some point a mother’s advice becomes so ingrained that you just hear it without her even being there.

The second list was the harder one: all the things I wanted for my future. I didn’t want just to list my professional goals, even though those were so much a part of who I would always be. Instead I wrote down Adventure, courage, kindness, inspiration, friendship. Love — in all its glorious and heartbreaking forms. Impromptu dance parties in my PJs even when I’m eighty-five years old.

And with a chuckle, it occurred to me that the last time I had felt I was at such a turning point in my life had been when I wrote “Never Grow Up.” Then I was looking back at my life gone by. That first night spent in my apartment — my very first place on my own — had been harder than I’d ever imagined it would be. When I was little, I’d always dreamed of the independence, of being oh-so-grown-up, making my own rules with no one to tell me otherwise. But sitting there in the quiet apartment — eerily quiet — the reality set in: I was growing up. I’d kept myself company that night by writing. I’d imagined what it must have been like for my mom when I was just a baby, what it might be like for me someday if I had a little one of my own. Wanting to keep them safe from harm, to protect them from the harshness and hardship this world can dole out. I’d remembered what it was like to be fourteen and trying so hard to be effortlessly cool (and totally failing). How I’d put the opinions of my friends — or, more precisely, what I thought their opinions might be — over my mom’s feelings, making her drop me off around the corner, as if I was ashamed of her. Silly girl, I was; she’s just the best.

I just realized everything I have is someday gonna be gone. Even more than that, I realized that night that if I wasn’t careful, I’d lose my memories to time. And ever since I’ve been trying to remember to take pictures in your mind — and, y’know, take actual pictures. To preserve the moments — good and bad, tearful and triumphant — that make up a life. So that one day, when I’m an old lady doddering around with cats and grandkids and shelves full of old journals, I’ll be able to go back and relive what is so fresh and vibrant and important today. It was like that line from Ferris Bueller: “Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”

Even though I knew that growing up was inevitable — that time keeps on moving, tick-tick-ticking away, whether we want it to slow down or speed up — I’d also realized since I’d written that song desperate to hold on to childhood and innocence, that as long as I kept my eyes open, my heart open, I wouldn’t ever grow up. Not really. Not completely. I still marveled at sparkly things, I still found nothing more comforting than resting my head on my mom’s shoulder, I still kept a nightlight in my room just in case I got spooked. I guess part of growing up was no longer worrying about being called childish by the cool kids. (They were just as insecure as I could be, as it turned out.)

And another way I’d never really grown up? My intense, unrelenting excitement about my birthday. My team in Nashville had shipped me a bunch of the presents my thoughtful generous fans had sent me, and there were just inside my room. Waiting for me to tear into them. I’d told myself I’d wait til it was actually my birthday — but even with the time-difference advantage that being in Australia gave me, there was no way I could wait any longer.

Writing new songs for my next album could wait. Thinking really deep thoughts about aging, memory, my childhood gone and my future lying ahead — that could totally wait.

Leaving the balcony door open so the beautiful morning breeze would still ruffle my hair, I flipped on my iTunes to my favorite Joni Mitchell album, and hummed along as I picked up the sparklest of all the packages, giving it a little shake and I sat down cross-legged on the floor giddy as a four-year-old.

Being a proper grown-up? Never, ever, ever in the cards for me.

***

Next week will be our last chapter before a two-week holiday break! Taylor will be headed to a sparkly magical holiday party where sparks will fly when she...

A — runs into an old flame

B — meets a handsome new guy

Vote, vote, vote! 

xo