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On my birthday

June 14, 2011


Today is my 28th birthday.  Twenty-eight feels big.  Legitimate.  Like everything up until now was just practice, and now it's time to get serious.

I will not deny the anxiety that descends upon a woman of a certain age.  Like a light Nantucket fog, creeping in unnoticed and suddenly grounding planes due to lack of visibility.  That little voice growing louder.  Oh God.  Where did my youth go?  When did I become old enough to actually refer to my youth in the past tense?

The traditional milestones, or lack thereof, don't bother me so much: unmarried, sans children.  I adore being the-bridesmaid-never-the-bride, and lord knows my nephews are more than enough to satisfy any maternal instinct that flares on occasion.  But it's the life markers I sought as the precocious youngster (a title I presumably held until June 13, 2011) that spur the prickly questions of doubt in my head.  Where's that advanced degree (or two) that I've been talking about for the past five years?  Shouldn't I own my own home by now?  Or have access to a decent savings account?  And where is my black lab named Magnolia ("Noli" for short)?

Then again, my life has been one of nontraditional mile markers.  I've sailed past a couple without even noticing them.  And even though I'm 'legitimate' now, I doubt I'll ever be really serious.  At least I hope not.

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