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?