Quarter Century Celebration

I'm lying in bed on the Eve of my 25th birthday, and I'm humorously looking back on my prior perceptions of the 25th year of life. You know, everyone around me has been looking ahead to my quarter-century centennial with excitement and anticipation.... and I just can't make myself care. It's 25... just another day.

When I was a kid, I remember playing with my Barbies. Not often, of course, as I wasn't much of the doll type, but every now and again I would humor Alye and get down on the floor of the basement and dress and undress them, make Ken cheat on Barbie (naturally) and make out with the convertible and usually the Barbie mansion. (What can I say, I was preparing my kid sister for the years to come.) Anyway, at the time, Skipper was by a long shot my favorite Barbie doll. I think it's because she was the only girl who had flat feet, and I really liked that she had rubber sneakers. I also liked to chew on those sneakers, but that's another story in and of itself. Whenever we would play, I would always designate Skipper as my Barbie, and naturally, her age: 14. Because at the time, 14 seemed the perfect age. I don't know why, but I figured at 14 you were old enough to be cool, young enough to not have to pay a mortgage, and you really had shit figured out. Little did I know that at 14 I would be a mere freshman in high school, have my heart broken for the first time, and date an adorable exchange student who would refer to my as "his woman", and forbid me to talk to my male friends. I also struggled through Algebra I, listened to frequent conversations about my biology teacher eating chicken testicles, and take a job at a tanning salon where cleaning up spilled dip cups and fecal matter were regular tasks. A gleaming year? Maybe not so much.

In college, of course, 21 became the magical age. No one would wait to be 21, becuase at 21 all of your problems would disappear. You'd be nearly done with college, you could get into all the bars- and consequently drink all the liquor your heart could desire. You could dance your ass off at Highlawn on a Thursday night, miss all your classes on Friday, and feel great about it. You were the one the younger people came to for alcohol. You were kind of a big deal. Then for my 21st birthday, I think the wildest thing I did was have 2 or 3 daiquiris at Red Lobster, where my long time boyfriend Steve came to JMU and took me to dinner. Then we hooked up on the quad. And that's it. I didn't get drunk, and I'm fairly certain we were asleep by 1am. WIld night for us. And in retrospect, what's the big deal about being 21 anyway? All you do is drink a lot, ruin your liver, kill your wallet, and get fat. Sweeeeeeet.

In college, when I saw my future, 25 was it. 25 was the year I would be married, and I would be 26 when I had my first child. In fact, I can vaguely remember completing a timeline for a certain college course in which I designated 25 to be my matrimonial, baby-making year. How I planned to spend so much time baby-making with the particularly demanding job I currently have, I'm not sure, but that was the plan. Baby-making.

Breathe that in for a minute.

My first CHILD. What WAS I thinking? Of course, back then I did have a serious boyfriend and thought I knew where my path was leading, but a child at 26, seriously? Either I am way behind, or I was crazy as hell back then. I'm not doing anything as adult or glamorous as planning a wedding, nor am I concerned with fertility issues and prenatal vitamins. But I do have a job that I love, and an apartment that is pretty awesome, even if I haven't afforded to furnish it well just yet. I have some great friends, both here in Colorado and back home in Virginia. All in all, things aren't that bad. Even if I am off schedule.

And so, for 25, I am taking the particularly ambitious route: I am making no plans. I'm not setting a ridiculous bunch of goals and expectations for the year. If I meet someone, I do; if I don't, I don't. If I'm doing the same thing a year from today and am still happy, great. If I'm unhappy with the path I'm on a year from now, I hope that I will have found an alternative route. I'm not going to worry about being "on or off schedule", because whose schedule really matters? If I can achieve overall happiness and satisfaction with my day to day life, what more can I really ask for. The rest will fall into place, and if it doesn't.... it doesn't! And really, what's more liberating than that, as I enter my 25th year of life. I'm officially taking my hands off the wheel, and letting someone else take over. And it feels great.

Cheers to you, my friend. Have a great one.

My Worst Fears... Realized.

The smiling girl in the photo above is my good friend, Shannon. Shannon is one of my closest Denver friends. We interned together in the fall, and shared Casa de CAMPUSPEAK for five wonderful months. Shannon is from Hickory, NC and is currently employed by the Marriott, and one of the constant sources of entertainment and laughter in my life. Exhibit A: Hiking 101, just last night.

Shannon has been consistently on my back to take up her ambitious exercise regimen. She wants the company, I guess, or at very least someone far less in shape than she to boost her spirits and give her motivation to keep up the good fight in weight maintenance and cardiovascular health. And yesterday, I caved.

In my defense, I was having a rough day. $30 Tim McGraw/Faith Hill tickets for last night's concert in Denver narrowly slipped through my fingers, and my heart was broken. I had a long day at work, a fairly grueling interview with Big Brothers/Big Sisters, and by the time I got on the interstate after 6pm I was feeling crestfallen and a tad lost. So when she proposed a walk- "Just a walk, promise", she reassured me- I went along. Momentary lapse in judgment, clearly.

Refer back to my previous post about the overwhelming fear I struggle with as of late, regarding all varieties of snakes. So you can imagine my intense fear and panic when once on the 2.5 mile trail- and far enough in that we couldn't very well turn back and feel good about it- I was greeted by "CAUTION: Rattlesnake Infested Area" signs. I'm sorry, a reptilian infestation? Absolutely not.

My friend Shannon, who is from the east coast like myself, evidently doesn't spend nearly as much of her time watching Animal Planet as I do... probably because she is generally out running. Shannon was none too concerned about the infestation. I think that this is because she was mixing up rattlesnakes with the typical Virginian/North Carolinian snakes like grass snakes and black snakes. Not a pure venomous rattlesnake.

To make a long story short, we kept walking. We did encounter two men on the trail who warned us that they had spotted one just off the trail a half mile or so ahead, but we never came face to face with one. Thank God. Because I am fairly certain that I would have shit myself. But the point is: I faced it. I walked nearly three miles through land that was known to have a snake population. Amidst the dozens upon dozens of snake holes. The pathside brush that, if I were a snake, would have been an excellent hiding spot for unsuspecting hikers.

I fear nothing. Snakes are no contest for me. I...am...awesome.

(Disclaimer: This in no way signifies a resolution to my overwhelming fear of snakes. I still would absolutely shit myself if a snake slithered in my direction... or not. I would even shit myself if I merely spotted one in the parking lot when I was standing on my second floor balcony. But I came. I hiked. I survived. And that, my friends, is what matters.)