It's My Party, and I'll Cry If I Want To

Yesterday, I was all set to write a blog about turning 33 today, and not looking back and thinking ahead toward the future, and blah, blah, blah. Well, I never quite managed to get around to writing it yesterday.

And today seems to be a different day entirely.

Yes, it’s my 33rd birthday today. And I am definitely not feeling the birthday fun. I have absolutely no desire to wear my birthday tiara. In fact, it’s possible that I may stomp on my birthday tiara.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m having the hardest time with this birthday. There’s no reason in particular. I am not afraid of getting older. I am okay with the lines on my face and the gray in my hair. In general, I am a very happy person – I like the person that I’ve become over the past 33 years. So what’s the problem? I guess I had always thought I would be in a different place by this time: accomplished more, acquired more, done more. I am not married – divorced in fact. No family. No real career path. I feel like I look around at many of my high school and college friends, and they seem so together. Big time careers, marriage, babies, success. I realize that I have never, okay, not always taken the traditional path. I know that I have often taken life’s scenic route. And that is something I usually really like about myself. But lately, I’ve been sort of wishing, longing even, for something more traditional. Is this a grass is always greener situation? I mean, I’m certainly not regretting all of places I’ve been, the experiences I’ve had, the uniqueness of my life. But today I’m wondering if I’ve taken too many detours along the way. I’m so far away from the white picket fence, 2.5 kids, and the Outback station wagon, I can’t even envision what they might look like.

I don’t like this feeling of, dare I say it – regret. This was supposed to be my blog about looking toward the future with positive and hopeful eyes. And instead, I’m just looking back at a life that is no longer an option.

Off to work now. Maybe fighting the good fight will make my birthday blues seem a little less important. It certainly should.