I’m weeks’ away from turning 40. I’ve been thinking about the last 20 years, about myself at 20 and my life looks a lot different that I thought it would:
- I’ve spent most of this time living in the US. At one time, I envisioned living in country after country, one year at a time, starting in England and moving across Europe.
- I’ve now been married twice. I wasn’t getting married. Ever. I didn't know that marriage could be an awesome partnership until I married the right guy. I didn’t realize that it was a relationship that would make me grow and sustain me when that growth became disconcerting.
- I have two kids. I didn’t like children (I still really don’t). Despite that little factoid, I know I am a better person for having been a mother. My children are two of the most interesting people I’ve ever met (when they aren’t being teenage assholes).
- I don’t care that much about money anymore. Since I was a teenager, I spent a lot of time wanting to be a millionaire - and making plans to do so. I thought that was a way to my happiness. Life has shown me otherwise.
- To the deities that control the lottery: I would not object to coming into possession of the next big Powerball jackpot, but now I wouldn’t be a complete douche nozzle, just the one I already am.
- I thought owning a home would be some kind of end-all-be-all experience. It’s pretty cool, but the bank owns my home and I’m paying the bank - for 30 years. It’s not a terrible way to go, but I didn’t think to question the wisdom of the American Dream.
- I gave more of a shit about the material. I wanted nice stuff. I wanted a lot of it. I used to look at it longingly because I couldn’t afford it. Now I can and I just can’t bring myself to care. My new life goal is to live in a place that takes 10 minutes to clean. One day I’ll be able to fit everything I own could fit inside a good sized duffel bag and backpack. I’m starting to really see that I don’t need as much as I thought I did to be happy.
- I gave more of a shit about what other people thought. I’m so glad to have let this one go. I wanted people to understand me. I wanted people to like me. Now? Eh. This is me. Take it or leave it.
- I used to be more excitable. Like with 6 & 7, the longer I stay on this planet, the smaller the circle of things that actually get my hackles up. I wanted the world to bend to my will. Finally got it through my skull: the world don’t work that way. I can only control myself. If it’s not up to me, I don’t worry about it.
- I was always over-thinking things. I don’t do that as much (although still too much for where I’m trying to go). Thinking and over-thinking. Considering and imagining. Reading about it first, figuring it all out first, right? Fuck no. Life is action. Life is doing. I’m not a completely lazy git, but I’m self aware enough to know that I have spent far too much time in contemplation.
- I didn’t know I was an introvert. I thought introvert meant shy. Nope. It means I get my recharge from solitude, not from interaction with others. I love being alone. My mother, in her infinite extroverty wisdom, would explain my strangeness by saying I “marched to the beat of a different drummer”. I assumed it was code for ‘weirdo’. I’m more than good with that, especially if keeps me from having to engage in small talk. Anywhere. I'd rather give myself an abortion with a knitting needle.
- I don’t know if there’s a number eleven. Suffice it to say that my 20 year old self would not recognize our life today. She might even be asking what the fuck I did to us (profanity was always there - 20, 40, 60 - it won’t matter), but I’d take her to Starbucks and we’d have a chat. I think she’d understand.
