I turned 32 on September 4, and it’s taken me 10 days to write this post because I’ve been busy. Not the interesting kind of busy in my 20s of socializing and doing things with people and… was I ever actually busy in my 20s? I’m kind of doubting it. And not the kind of busy of someone with an actual “career” doing work things and answering phones and writing memos and networking or whatever people do. No, I’ve been busy in a very boring SAHM lady in her 30s kind of way. Wrangling the tot. Running errands. Trying to fit dinner/reading/spending a moment with my husband/and let’s not kid ourselves, some kind of computer based nerdery, in the approximately 2 hours between kid bedtime and when I *should* be in bed myself.
And truly, it’s a relief to be old enough now that being in bed by 11 doesn’t feel like some kind of un-fun failure. I was chit chatting with a 25 year old nanny friend at the playground last week, asking if she did anything fun over the weekend… and as she detailed her “low key” weekend of shows and “hanging out” and “things” I felt like that Richard Brautigan poem about falling in love… thank god it’s you this time and not me.
I’m entering the period of my life where I’m not expected to be young anymore. If I do anything brilliant, I’ll never be a prodigy. I’ll never be on a 30 under 30 list. My window of opportunity for being an ingenue has ended. Phew. Glad that’s over. I’ve often looked at my successful peers and people who had great success at a young age and thought “Well, what’s the point.” Now that I’m an old… the world is my oyster. I can be boring and creative and no one will ever expect me to be young and brilliant.
I’ve decided that my mantra, my word for 32 is going to be CREATE because boy howdy have I not done enough of that at 31. It’s hard to find time, to carve out moments from my busy Animal Crossing schedule, but I’m going to do my best. Little bits here and there. And if I only get half a journal filled or three pieces done all year, that’s ok. That’s more than I would have done if I didn’t try. And who cares? It’s not like I’m a hip new young artist. I’m an old boring artist who has had two shows, a dry spell, a baby, and now is my time to just sit back, be boring and create.
It’s weird how 32 feels like this and 31 and 30 didn’t. Just like… oh, I’m 30something now. No pressure. Nobody really expects anything at 32, so I can do anything.
(I’d also better get on it because if I live to be 96, I’m 1/3 of the way done with my time on this mortal coil. And yet, no one hears of 33% life crises. I guess this is the 33% deep breath.)
As for my birthday itself – my birthday is a pretty big deal to me and I wanted it to be great in a low key old and boring kind of way. And it was. I had so many of my favorite things: going to the MFA, eating a burger topped with the Cheese of My Birth (I was born in Grafton, VT so I share a special bond with its signature Grafton Village Cheddar), a perfectly blue cloudless sky, playdate with a friend and her little girls, cupcakes. It was boring. Who expects a big celebration for 32? 32 is lost in a sea of unimportant birthdays. It was perfect.
[ And yes, that mummy totally looks like its chin beard thing is a giant dong. Just because I'm 32 doesn't mean I'm mature. ]