Thoughts on 31

It’s strange what’s happening. Slender strands of grey caress my temple. My laundry, instead of being strewn about the room, most often resides in a basket or two. But what really gets me is the coat situation. I frequently, daily in fact, hang the coats. You’d think it’s because we have a handy-dandy coat rack, but this is far from true. Instead pipes with warm water pulsing, coated in some sort of heavy duty paint serve as my closet. The hangers fit perfectly around the pipes and I hope each time they don’t accidently get too hot melting into gobbly-gook dripping on my head in the middle of the night. If it was just the coats, I’d understand and stop being alarmed but there’s more.

Instead of just paying bills on time each month and hoping for the best, eating out whenever and giving money away on a whim. I add it all up now, I keep track. Making sure we have money in savings, health insurance is cared for and we’ve planned ahead for our trip. When did this happen? I mean, I never used to care. I’d drive across the country never considering the cost, of gas, of food, of the employment days lost. But now, I think twice when I’m preparing to travel. Get this, I even have auto insurance. The kind where they’d come get you if you got stuck. It’s not in my dad’s name, I’m not on his policy. Nope. It’s all ours. David’s and mine.

And tomorrow, instead of sleeping in, I’m headed up early to get the alignment checked. This kind of stuff is for grown-ups and grandpa’s, don’t you think? But, I’m serious, I’m headed across town with a mission in mind. There are other weird things I do, I swear. Like the dishes…

Thirty.One. Not to be confused with the well-intended purse/bag company…nope. These are the number of years I’ve been alive. Most often when people say, “Yeah, I worked there for 16 years”. I think to myself, “Now, that must have been an eternity, I’ve not done anything for 16 years, the most I can think of consistently is 4. Years of school that is”. But now, when people say this, in the back of my mind, I think, “I’ve been working at living that long. It’s not that bad. In fact it’s sorta grand”.

Then I start to remember what it was like to load up my car in college and much to my mother’s chagrin, traverse across the nation from Michigan to Florida for a summer adventure. The freedom of driving and driving on an open road has and always will tantalize me. Or how about that time, we loaded the light green Elantra frequenting grocery stores, national parks and out houses for a bit. Sure we smelled a little but it was invigorating. Driving through the night until the trees became monsters. Me listening to Senifield. Laughing hard enough to cause concern for my sister, my partner in crime. She told me when we pulled off for gas that it was important for me to keep my eyes open even while laughing and if I didn’t think I could oblige, she’d take away the Seinfeld fun. I agreed, seeing was essential while driving down Highway 1 and I proceeded to tone down my hardy “ha ha’s”.

Since I was a bit concerned about the nice, yet intrusive grey ones, I told my friend. She said, “Oh yes, I have them too but Diane, don’t you think we’ve earned each one?” As I pondered, I concurred. Encounters with bounty hunters and defiant teenage children have peppered my past. Exuberant marathon finishes, rewarding academic rigor and deep self-reflection are written across the journals keeping track of my journey. There were the “Brian’s” of course, which the family kept track of like Thing 1 or Thing 2 found in Dr. Seuss’s kid stories. “Brian 1, Brian 2, Brian 3 or Brian 4,” they would ask. How embarrassing… yet how could they help themselves? It was hard to keep track. I’m sure Dad was the culprit who named the jokers who meandered through my life. The hairs no longer predominantly a light-ish brown color tell a story. They hold secrets of relationships tried and failed. But mostly, they’ve come since I’ve met the one who’s joined me for the life-long adventure. It’s like the color once exerting much energy to keep my hairs clothed has relaxed. Stop trying so hard to stay brown. It’s like those strands that hold the tale, are trying to get across a message to the rest of these years all mingled inside me.

I think they’re saying, “Relax. Don’t try so hard. You’re alright.” As they shed their original duty to guard and protect the outside world from seeing what’s inside, the beauty of each strand shows through. Not sure, but I’m hoping I’ll be able to follow their example. In some ways, I feel as if I’ve just begun. Thirty-one. Most say, “You’re so young”. But as one who’s lived all of those years, I feel far from fresh off the lot. I’d like to think my experiences win me a badge or an honor or two, but I think the reality is far from accolades. Instead, the brown wisps turned grey reveal a deeper yet often unperceived invitation. I’m invited to carry-on in this life deemed adventure. As Gandalf says we’re not promised we’ll be the same as we dance through each scene. But it’s my hope and my fervent prayer to follow the grays lead, relax and allow for the beauty taking root and growing deep within to be revealed….