It's My Birthday

35 is here.

Ten years ago, at 25, I bought my first house. I filled it with things. Little things, big things, shiny things and soft things. And then, I bought a new car (it's still the one I drive today). After that, came the job. I mean - THE job. The opportunity of the lifetime, with the paycheck to match. A year later, came the wedding, with the husband, and the cat. And then another cat. I even owned a tennis racket.

And I thought - wow, imagine where I'll be when I'm 35.

I am 35. I don't own a home. I don't own things. I sold all that when I got divorced, moved across the country, and became a perennial renter in someone else's home. I shop second hand. I eat lots of left overs. I steal paper products. I work. I ration laundry detergent. I buy cans with dents. I even, on occasion, darn a sock.

And I'm in love.

I'm in love with my city. I'm in love with my social life. I'm in love with my friends. I'm in love with my boyfriend. I love the Farmer's Market, and the little theater, and the shop that sells useless Mexican memorabilia, and the consignment store down the road. My life isn't perfect, but it's pretty. And it's all mine.

When I look back at that 25 year old, I'm proud of her for doing all the things she *thought* she should do. I remember feeling accomplished, but lost. Why is it that I've done the "plan", and still feel empty? Why is it that everyone says I'm on the "right track", but I feel restless and lost? Where are my answers?

I didn't even answer them myself. Ex had to do that for me. He said "goodbye", and I said, "what now" - and away we go.

And so now I'm 35. What I don't have in tangibles, I've made up for with spirit. And that's all right by me.

XOXO
LuckyBroad