The other day, a friend was talking about how she'll be 30 this year, and I started to think about all the things I thought I'd have done by the time I turned 30. "Whew," I thought "I have two more years to take a big-ass bite out of something."
But then it occurred to me. I have like 14 months. I *know* I'm 28, but for some reason, I also thought I'd be turning 28 this year. Imagine my surprise when I figured out I'm turning 29 this year. 29. The last year of my twenties. And seriously, WHAT have I done? I'm going to need to accomplish something big this year.
Erik says I have these crises before every major life event. "I'm getting married already, and I've done NOTHING with my life!", "It's time to have a baby? I quit my job?! And I've accomplished NOTHING I set out to!" "We've already been married for FIVE years?! And what?! NOTHING!!!! Where the hell are our lives going?" I guess he's right... You should have seen me the day I turned twenty. I literally had a quarter-life crisis. What did NOT help was that the guy I was dating (who was 2 months younger), gave me a card about how my life was 25% behind me. That's pretty much the only thing I remember about that guy. Go figure...
Sometimes I think I have absolutely wasted my life thus far. I've done things I'm proud of, but not the things I thought I was built for. Where's that Juris doctorate, Sheena? Where's the job at the consulting firm? Un-reaped are the benefits of countless hours volunteering for and running political campaigns in order to get my foot in the door of Senator X or Representative Y. Un-pulled are the strings I once had within the party headquarters. Un-taken are the job offers, un-cashed are the pay checks (that would have likely been as menial as those earned working in human service, but in my mind make me independently wealthy).
And then, of course, I think about this little person in my charge. The charismatic, well behaved, smarter than most, spunky little boy that I somehow managed to raise solely for the first year of his life and not accidentally decapitate him; and I have to wonder if maybe my life-long mission was wrong. I seem to be doing something right here, so maybe right now my mission is supposed to be to raise a well rounded individual, then THEN find myself. Because I have to tell you, I've been looking for myself everywhere, and for as long as I can remember, and am no closer to figuring out where the hell I am.
To clarify, I don't regret being a stay at home mom, it's absolutely the right decision for our family right now, and I made it for myself; but I have to admit: I know no greater humiliation than when someone says "I'm working on my PhD, what do you do?" "Oh, me? I stay home and serve 3 meals and two snacks a day, and live my life knee deep in someone else's poop." I know some people are meant for this, and God I wish I was one of them. I do not judge those people (though the tone of this post may indicate otherwise) - in fact, I truly, madly, deeply envy them.
I'll tell you why I'm not one of them, though: my mom wasn't. And she takes every chance she gets to tell me I should get a job, or ask when I'm going to go back to school, or work, or whatever. I 'spose it could be those tuition payments talking, or her knowledge that try as I might, I'm just not one of those people I envy, but I definitely know she doesn't approve of my staying home. But I wonder, even if you are the most accomplished person on the planet, if you screwed up raising your kids, what do you have? A boat-load of heartache if you ask me.
So anyway, I have something like 14 months and 2 weeks to get SOMETHING done before I'm thirty. I'm taking suggestions.
Wait! Seriously, I just had an epiphany. Honestly, just as I've been typing out the less than funny, less than historical post I had a light bulb moment. Ready?
My whole life I've had a very intense fear. Not of spiders, not of heights, but of childbirth. The thought of a person ripping from my body (yeah, it's graphic, but that's the point) has always terrified the bajesus out of me. So I suppose I could say that in my late in my 26th year of life, I looked my greatest fear in the face and and bitch slapped that beast, even without the aid a working epidural.
Whew! I have done something! Blogging is cathartic.
"I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think have ended up where I intended to be"
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