I'm not one for maudlin and weary posts about what I did or did not accomplish in the previous year. I usually just list what I did and move on to the next circuit around the sun.
As I celebrated my 38th birthday at the beginning of the year, I found myself frankly shaken by the number. Thirty eight? WTF? When did this happen? I feel like a 20 year old. This is wrong. Someone made a mistake.
But there it is. If you're born in 1973, it stands to reason that in 2011, you would be seeing forty not too far down the road. My fellow Flock members and anyone else reading this blog are free to roll your eyes, and call me a baby and tell me to put on my big girl panties.
You were here once, weren't you? Approaching forty and wondering how it could have happened? Feeling a bit like time was running out to do something crazy, maybe?
That's how I feel. Now, I certainly don't want to "revisit my high school days" or even think about them very much. I think I would rather have too few hormones, like now, instead of having too many like back then. Remember what that was like??
My thirties have been really good. I got two great kids out of it. I discovered birding and RAPTOR. I have made the closest friends I have had since high school. Closer, even. (We know how fickle teenagers are)
So no whining there.
Even though forty is lurking over the next rise in the road, am I sad? Bitter?
As I reflect, my gut instinct is to say NO. For the reasons I stated above, and for so much more.
So I'm 38. Big deal. It's how you feel, right? And since I border on grossly immature, I'm ahead of the curve. I'm already cantankerous, so I don't have to learn as I go.
Yeah, my knees aren't as quiet as they once were. My ability to stay up all night, while not completely gone, is a bit diminished. I fell asleep sitting up the other day, a la Grandma. My boobs don't look anyone in the eye anymore.
I find myself saying things like, "Just because your best friend has a phone doesn't mean YOU get one" and "Because I'm your mother!" and "Geoff, pass me the Geritol".
(Geoff, to give the man some street cred, still calls me his trophy wife. He's a big fat liar, but it's the thought that counts.)
I'm not letting all this stop me, though. In fact, I'm better than I've ever been. I'm still fun enough to be enjoyable, but I have all this responsibleness that will keep me out of jail, most of the time. I still make friends easily, but the friends I am choosing now are stellar, steadfast and true.
So this was less of a bitch-fest and more of a thinking out loud post. Thanks for reading through it.
Next post: Preparing for this year's New River Bird and Nature Festival, which fits neatly behind this post, because the Flock makes me feel young and free and giggly and sloshy. Paco! More vino, por favor!!