40 Something

I remember a TV show from the 80's called 30 Something.  At that time 30 seemed so old I could barely imagine it.  My sister thought it was great.  It was all about relationships, and kids, and jobs.  I was not set on a future like that.  I did not know what I wanted, but I knew I wanted to be "different".  Well, I am not sure if I wanted that or if I just was, so I might as well embrace it.  I was not a cheerleader in school.  Nor was I popular, or a pretty girl.  I was mostly ignored and fully aware of it.  Not too different to be picked on or hounded, just relegated to the way less than elite.  I, however, did not want to be elite anyways, so there.  When I learn how to use the new scanner at home I will post a few choice photos.  Perhaps my favorite is wearing my short hair in a sea of mall bangs, with my brown psuedo-military outfit with the belt that wrapped two times around and over my shoulder.  It had silver bars on it, reminiscent of those big guns whose names elude me right now.  Not that I was about to join the Sandinista guerrilla fighters, I just liked the look.  I wish I could say I was into hard core punk, but I listened to WIFC like everyone else.  Me and Tears for Fears were buds.  I did know the one guy in school who put a safety pin in his ear.  And, I had a rat tail.

Yes, I was different and did not know were that would take me.  Away from Wausau, Wisconsin, that was for sure.  I escaped to college, and into the heart of Minneapolis.  I went everywhere, partied downtown often, and lived the big city life.  Eventually Minneapolis was too mundane, or at least my corner of it, and I tired of urban living.  My best friend, who came through it all with me, from kindergarten to sophomore year of college, had similar feelings.  She thrived on the urban part, however, and moved to Los Angeles.  By 1992 she was settled with a real job, a soul mate, and a baby.  I was terrified by this and went off to see the world.  Or at least to get as far away as possible from the Mid-West and even the US.

We were in the Gulf War at the time, and I wanted nothing to do with that.  I was not a patriot, thought the "war" was a bad move, and could not wait to get out.  I hated Bush, had hated Reagan, and was ready to be far, far away.  I had vague ideas about falling in love with a man from a foreign country and becoming and ex-pat.  This may have been more realistic if men actually looked at me as more than a friend or fun tom boy.  Or if I had ever had a relationship that lasted more than two weeks in real time, not counting endless crushes.  I had the dream, but it never quite worked out the way I wanted.  I spent a few years in New Zealand, which were glorious and grand and worthy.  There were men, of course, and I had a few crushes, and was crushed by them.  I did have one boyfriend, but since he was totally into me I determined he was not worth having.  I did get to keep his best friend, but that story is better saved for another post.  Yes, I had a marvelous time abroad, but I did not fall in love.  And I did not stay. 

All that was still as a 20 Something.  And now, here I am, blogging at 41.  How did I get here? is a question that has popped up a lot lately.  I am back in a town with a very similar feel to the one I escaped from at 17.  I have a husband, a job, and a child.  A house, and pets, and lots of stuff.  I lived for years out of a VW Rabbit, owning no more than the hatchback could hold.  Sometimes I feel really old.  Don't get me wrong, I do love my life.  It is filled with love, and loved ones.  That is the most important part.  It is also filled with the outdoors and adventures.  Smaller adventures than in the past, but adventures still.  I love my life, it is just way closer to the show 30 Something than I ever expected.