I’m not sure where the days and weeks and months are
going. Why does life do this? Just speeds up and speeds up – before I know
it, I’ll be 80 and wondering where on earth my time went. How have I already been at my job for four
months? Why, just yesterday I was seeing
my best friend in California and enjoying a relaxing drive up Hwy 1. But the most serious question is this – how,
how in the world, do I have a birthday on Friday that will make me closer to 30
than to 20 for the first time?
I always assumed I’d be one of those women who aged
gracefully and without complaint like my grandmothers are. That when I found a grey hair or a wrinkle, I’d
shrug and think, “Well, it happens to everyone.” Now, I’m not quite so sure I want to go down
without a fight. But how does one “age gracefully”? Is it simply taking care of your body and
praying that you don’t get wrinkles as bad as your sun-worshipping
counter-parts? Or is it accepting the
changes you know are inevitable and living as though you were still 25?
My biggest worry, I suppose, is that I am 2 days from
turning 26 – at least a quarter through my life – and what have I accomplished
on the checklist of what you’re supposed to get done in a life? This is a chief problem for women my
age. It was clear in our grandparents’
day – even our parents’ day. You get
married right out of high school (or college), you have babies, you take care
of said babies, and maybe have a part-time job or some good hobbies that you
can fall back on when they grow up. But
now, in this global world, where our options are unlimited – what should our
checklist look like? Part of my inner
clock is thinking, “I should be married by now, possibly with a child.” The other part of my person (the part shaped
by the world around me and experiences, not my biological and ancestral instincts)
thinks “How lucky am I? I don’t have to worry about a husband or children. I have no one to tie me down. I can do and see whatever I’d like.”
But then, that’s not quite true is it? Because without a
husband to help provide for me, I can’t do as much as I’d like. If I got the kind of job that would allow more
traveling or more money, I may have to move out of Charlotte. And even without a husband and kids, I still
have other family that holds me to this town.
How could I leave them all behind? How could I start all over in a new
city and make all new friends and only see my family twice a year? Twice a year?
When I see them at least twice a week now? It was different when I was studying abroad
because the term of my time apart was set.
But were I to take a job in California, for example, who knows how long
that would last.
So then you have a 26 year old who is both too independent
and too dependent at the same time. A
woman stuck in this weird quagmire of her years in comparison to her heart in
comparison to where people think she should be in life.
Twenty-five was such a great birthday. I felt like the world was at my feet. I had
25 friends show up and I felt sure the year would hold great, life-changing
things. I guess it did – just not quite
the way I planned. I went to Europe
again, which was fantastic. I spent more
time in Spain which I love, love, love!
As well as England, which everyone knows, is my second home
somehow. Yet the problem with this
return trip was making the longing to go back ever stronger. Sometimes, the more you see and experience,
the less content you are with the day-to-day.
Or maybe you just want to incorporate all you’ve seen and all the new
ideas that have been shared with you into your daily life, but no one else gets
it, which makes the implementation of such a life impossible.
Then I met the man I thought I was supposed to marry. And I thought, “This is perfect – I’m 25, I’ve
seen and done a lot, and now I’ve met my soul mate and we can settle down, (but
not really because he loves to travel
too). And life with him will be easy and
happy because we understand each other. And in a few years, I’ll have kids and they’ll
travel with us and we’ll have tons of amazing photos of them because we’re both
photographers.” Twenty-five was really
looking like the best year of my life.
And then, I spent nearly half a year recovering from what
was supposed to be the “best year of my life” when he broke my heart into a
million little pieces and left me crying on a bench outside Harris Teeter one
August evening. Not that big things didn’t continue to happen – they did – but behind
it all was a hurt I’d never felt before; and the shattered pieces of a dream
that I kept bumping into and cutting myself on.
I moved into my own place (kind of), and then ended up
having to move out in four days when the family suddenly sold their other
house. But for four months, I got to
live alone and feel somewhat independent, and that was nice.
My big highlight from the “recovery” period was visiting my
friends in California. That was an
amazing trip – there is nothing like new terrain, amazing friends and constant
activity to keep you from looking back.
I also got a full-time job, which I like, but in the end, I
know it can’t fulfill me forever. And I’m
still making “poverty level pay” (as my mother likes to put it), despite a four
year degree from one of the most prestigious schools in the country. On the plus side, I’m helping save lives on a
daily basis and I’ve gotten over my fear of needles.
So now, here I am, another year older. And thinking back, it’s been a year of
learning, growing and strengthening. My
heart was truly broken for the first time, and I recovered. Thanks to God and friends and family, I was
lent the strength I needed to overcome a mountain. Compared to that, getting kicked out of my
condo and moving into a friend’s guest room within a span of four days was a
tiny mole hill. In fact, it was a year
that felt a lot like riding a roller coaster – which is perhaps why it seemed
to go by so quickly. There was one very
big drop, and the rest were just ups and downs at break-neck speed.
And in the end, as I step off the ride, I’m glad I did
it. Not that I would choose to ride
again, but I’m glad to say that I did it and lived through it. And some of it was fun (much like I hear the
first half of Tower of Terror is - very cool and interesting, up until have
your stomach plummet into your throat as you drop 15 floors straight down).
So here’s to my 26th Birthday: may this year hold
surprises that help me feel comfortable in this age and satisfied. May I be brave to make hard decisions and
pursue dreams. May I never stop loving
to the fullest of my being, and may I never forget that wearing one’s heart on
one’s sleeve isn’t a bad thing. May I never grow cynical and may I always find
life’s joys in the world around me. May
I never forget to appreciate the beauty of a Carolina blue sky or a starry
night. May I never grow complacent or defeatist. And may I always enjoy Disney World as much
as I’m about to enjoy it at the end of this month when I go visit.
Did I forget to mention that? I’m going to Disney! Yes indeed, my birthday present to myself is
visiting Kelly and the kids in Jacksonville, then meeting Michael in Orlando
and spending time in the most magical place on earth. Because if there is any
place that makes me feel like a kid again, it’s Disney. Forget the unbelievable amount of money I
just spent on passes or the long drive down in my roommate’s car (they are
going to FL and dropping me off on the way) – I am going to jump and skip and
clap and laugh and hug a giant mouse – just like I did when I was six.
