I mentioned in my last blog post that 33 had always been my “scary” birthday. It’s always sort of loomed out there for me. Not really sure why. Perhaps it’s because I remember my parents at that age. I have no recollection of either of them turning 30, but I distinctly remember when they were 33. It was 1987 and I was 11. And (I thought) they were grown ups.
And now I’m apparently a grown up as well. At least I suppose that’s what people think! Although most of the time I don’t feel that way. I do, in fact, still feel 25…most of the time. (thanks to George Strait for that sentiment!)
But if I could go back and actually be a twentysomething again I wouldn’t. Sure, there were some good moments…
- I’d love to be back at FHU in the dorm with my friends for a couple of days, prank calling the PKA guys, skipping class and sitting out in the commons, and having Tea Society meetings at Dawn’s. Maybe one more Spring Break trip to Florida with the girls and of course I’d love the chance to be in Makin’ Music one more time around.
- I’d probably take another week of backpacking through Europe with Kelly, fearlessly exploring country after country, going to see U2 and REM in concert again, and maybe having a large hazelnut gelato on the Duomo steps.
- I’d love to have a couple of days in the apartment in Henderson on Gailbraith Street where I lived with Vickie, Nicole, Mandy, Julie and Bethany. (only Vickie and I were there the entire time, the rest rotated). It was in this apartment, right after college graduation when I coined the (now famous in some circles) phrase “These are the worst times of our lives,” which must be said very dramatically with your hand placed to your forehead just so.
- I’d like a couple of days in the house in Nashville on Linden Street with Katherine and all of our crazy neighbors, grabbing endless cups of coffee at Fido and flirting shamelessly with the musicians who worked there.
- I might take a couple of days back at Shiloh as a ranger. That job was such a dream come true for me and my weird Civil-War-buff-since-4th-grade-self. There’s nothing quite like firing a Civil War musket…
- I wouldn’t mind a couple of days in Mobile to visit with everyone at the Chamber and enjoy a long lunch out on the deck at Ed’s. And maybe a long weekend at Gulf Shores and, of course, a Mardi Gras parade.
But looking back, I wouldn’t want to actually permanently be back in any of those times or places. I loved those years. I’m so blessed to have had the experiences and the friendships that grew along the way. And all of those combined experiences have made me who I am today, and brought me to where I am today.
If you’ve caught on that this blog post is meant to convince me to embrace 33 rather than dread it, you’re right! So happy birthday to me. My wise friend Dawn tells me that the 40’s are better than the 30’s which were better than the 20’s. She hasn’t steered me wrong yet, so I’m going to believe her. And if the best is yet to come, there must be some great times ahead! And that thought alone makes turning another year older worth it.
Song of the day is Seasons of Love from Rent. Love it. 525,600 minutes–that’s all the time I get to be 33, so I’d better enjoy it!