MIA from the PTA

I have a big time major fear of being stuck. The list includes: elevators, quick sand, coffins, traffic, Chinese finger traps, on a math problem, in the middle, and ....up. But even above those (yes, even above the gut wrenching sweaty brow panic that those damn finger traps ellicit) is being stuck in one single place. At this moment the idea of marriage and a steady job and the whole shabang called being a grown up makes my brow start to glisten. Growing up a lot of us see this shining beacon of the finish line. You envision yourself at about 37 with the ass of Jennifer Aniston and the hair of...who are we kidding...you envision yourself at about 37 looking exactly like Jennifer Aniston. Ignore the fact that I did the whole highlights thing and it doesn't work for my skin tone, or that my ass doesn't look like that even NOW. It's a whole new ball game because at 37 in your fantasies you automatically get reborn as a hottie actress from Friends. Yes, I know, I will age extremely gracefully.... into a different being entirely. Your husband is dark haired and handsome with a mean backswing in tennis and you live in an unnamed suburb on a quiet street that looks something if not identical to that in Father of the Bride. Your son and daughter are active in extracurriculars and you spend your spare time working on the PTA. You also have a terrific sex life and you drive a fuel efficient SUV.

I don't really want my finish line to come yet, though. As wonderful as my life with my hot husband could be........where's the adventure???? The finish line means the race is over. You don't get to feel the rush of adrenaline and endorphins take over as you run miles and miles. I don't want my happily ever after tied up with a neat bow and a Hallmark card on the side. I want to travel and experience the world and my freedom before I'm stuck. Because maybe then stuck won't feel so stuck...it'll feel more like luck. So I'm gonna go for a run and I won't stop until I create the life I want, and not necessarily one in which I ask, why is Jennifer Aniston on my family Christmas card?

the only gut gushing post you will ever see on this blog

I've lived three very different places, each 3,000 miles away from each other or more....and thought about him. I spoke new languages and unknowingly ate blood sausage and layed on the beach and kissed boys to prove to myself that I am an independant woman...and thought about him. And I've mourned and I've partied and I've strengthened my relationships with my best friends...and I thought about him. I met people I could love and I kept my distance. Because I was thinking about him. I've been a free person wandering and learning, making it a priority to myself to stay that way. I've valued this sense of liberation from all things tying me down. I am dancing with my uncertainty. I am running around breathlessly happy, endlessly energetic, 7 feet tall! and then we have lunch. Just lunch. And I'm 2 inches again...and I'm paralyzed with the uncertainty.

I wish I could tell someone that he's just a person I barely know. Ah, yes, him...we met once or twice, it was fun. I could say that. I've even said it to myself a few times. But I can never seem to make eye contact or drown out the voice telling me I'm wasting my time with that false truth. Because that liberation?? It's really only as far as him. I don't need to find my footing with him, I don't have a rare disease of which his love is the only antidote, I don't need Webster to put his picture next to my name. I just need him. After a long time of putting myself first and figuring it out, I'm actually allowed to say that. I'm allowing MYSELF to break an uncrackable, super humanly strong image I've created for myself...to admit that I want someone...and that I'm not sure that I will ever get it. ...And in that, finding a peace with the inevitable.