"When the rooster crows on the dung heap the weather stays the same, or it changes." - German proverb
I'm home! I'm home! My travels are done, school is officially out, and the days stretch open before me. The first thing I have to do is process the past two months worth of photos from Paris, Luxembourg, Brussels, Florence, and Athens, and then...it's Resume Time! I've got to dust that old thing off and start sending it around town. I'll admit I'm thrilled about entering the work force again. I'm sure that will wear off the first time I'm called into my boss's office about 'my overwhelming enthusiasm and volume,' but for now, I feel like the world is my oyster! What shall I do?? Where shall I apply?? Someone, quick, tell me.
In other news, D-Day approaches! On June 6, I turn the Big 3-0. I have to admit I'm not being very graceful, very 'Life Just Gets Better with Age' about it. I really thought--back when I was too young to think 30 was actually going to happen--that I would bound into this decade, breaking that winner's tape, flushed with the victory of wisdom and experience and ready to take on new challenges. But no, it turns out I'm not that mature. Immaturity is something I can still admit to in my 20's and receive some level of grace. As a 20-something, one is still considered somewhat naive, and decisions that don't look too far ahead are tolerated. But now! I will be in my 30's. No longer will women flap their hands dismissively at me, saying, 'Of course you say that! You have all the time in the world, you're so young!' And no longer will men laugh, 'Ahhhhh, I remember that energy. Now go refill my coffee, only one sugar this time, and then fax this report.' Nor will I automatically get the ignorance-of-youth free ride anymore. From now on when I'm ignorant, I'm just ignorant (though maybe I've always been just ignorant and will just now be facing the music). At 30, one is expected to be a mature, responsible human being, with a real career and a ticking clock and a purse that has a moisturizer with sunblock in it. There can be no more 'When I Grow Up' procrastination. Nobody likes to see a 35 year old still talking about some dream he'll fulfill when he gets big.
On the bright side, it will be nice to start lording all my lofty experience over all those 20-somethings, gifting them with the same dooms-day predictions I was privy to: 'You won't be able to eat like that forever!' and 'One day you'll break your leg doing that!' and 'Just wait until you get your first chin hair!' 20-somethings love that. It totally sinks in and makes a difference. I'll also say annoying things like, 'I just can't drink that much caffeine anymore,' and 'I need shoes with more support' and 'I can't sleep a wink with that fly in the room!' So that's exciting. I've also been practicing my 'Why are movies so LOUD these days??' moan for next time I'm in a movie theater, digging out my earplugs.
I guess there IS a lot to look forward to, now that I think about it.
Now if you'll excuse me, I should go lie in the sun. I only have four more days to flippantly damage my skin. I'm just so young; I don't know any better. Premature aging and skin cancer are but strange threats on a distant horizon. You have to forgive me.
Big hugs and so much love,
p.s. Let me know if you need my address for my birthday present.
If I were aging in Paris, I'd just become more dapper. And discover an uncanny ability to complete a crossword.