They Say that Wisdom Comes with Age. I Hope That’s No Lie.
Well, it’s weird.
The earth has circled the sun exactly 29 times since the day I decided to grace all of you with my presence — not in the blog world, obviously, since I was old enough to remember my dad bringing home our very first Apple computer, complete with green screen and a joystick, of all the coolest things to get invented.
Next to jelly shoes and slap bracelets, of course.
It’s weird, because I don’t feel a day over 34.
I think it’s safe to say that I’m in a very different place from the one I was in at this same time last year. Not just physically, since back then I was, as my dear friend Erin reminded me this morning, “sipping Imperials in grubby, worn-out flip-flops while sitting in an open-air restaurant that we had to walk 2 miles down a dirt road (and then scramble to somehow put together the 3 colones for the cab ride) to get to,” and tonight I’ll likely be sipping much-more-expensive mojitos with some fantastic girlfriends at a restaurant I drive to myself.
Morning view last year:
Morning view this year:
Sure, they both involve fog, but my, how times change.
Also, I’m different.
The quarter-life crisis (or maybe now it’s more accurately a third-life crisis) is still lurking, like a funky aftertaste or sticky morning mouth, but it’s less… potent.
And I think it’s because I’m finally starting to find my way.
Do you know that feeling, when you dive deep down into a murky lake, and somehow you become all discombobulated from turning and spinning and having a grand ol’ time, and then, out of nowhere, it gets scary because you realize you’re no longer sure which way is up?
Suddenly you’re terrified because there is a very real possibility that you’re swimming in the wrong direction, further away from the breathable clarity of the surface, until you find yourself face-planting into the sandy bottom.
Yep, I actually did that once.
But figuratively speaking, that’s me as well. I’ve been face-planting for a while now, and it feels like maybe I’ve finally been able to gain some precarious footing and push off of the pliable sand.
I’m not sure where I’m going, but at least it’s somewhere.
And anywhere is better than hitting bottom.
I can already tell it’s going to be a good day, because I emerged from my steamy shower and padded into the kitchen to discover that Justin had left me this:
Coffee ready-to-go and a piece of bread in the toaster, just waiting to get crunchified and spread with peanut butter and jelly.
The perfect work morning breakfast.
And already I can see that the fog is starting to clear.