I realized the other day that I am spitting range of 30. We are not talking a stone’s throw of a couple of years. Oh. No. Try months, people. It’s one of those landmarks in a person’s life that makes one sit back and take stock. Forty may be the new 30 but when you get to 30 it’s still ..well… 30. I can’t say I’m entirely sad to be leaving my 20’s behind. I did a lot of learning in them. A lot of painful learning. A good deal of really fabulous stuff happened as well ( see: husband and son) during this past decade. But overall this past decade has been a might bit bumpy for my tastes.
The hard part of getting to this age and being where I am is that while I’m happy in my life I feel like I’m still waiting. For what you may ask. Good Question! I have no idea. But I’ve felt this way my entire life thus far. When I was a kid I was waiting to be an adult. When I was in high school I was waiting to be out. When I was in college I was still waiting to feel like an adult. Here I am at 30, still tapping my toe, checking my watch, and wondering when the hell this show is going to get on the road.
I know all the rhetoric about life being a journey and not letting it pass you by and you are the only one who can things started for yourself. I know these things. This does not change the face that I still have no idea what I want to be when I grow up. None. It doesn’t seem like life is going to pause for a moment, let me catch my breath, and decide. I need to find a point. Good thing this is nothing new for me.
