blog entry

I just turned 38.

It’s not a milestone birthday, but it’s one that made me say to my mom last night on the phone, “Can you believe that I’m almost 40?” To which she replied, “How do you think that makes ME feel?!” Mom’s a young 65, bright-eyed and vivacious, with a solo trip to Egypt planned in the winter. But the 38 thing brings me closer to an escape fantasy I fashioned a while back... What would I do if I could run away and start over at 40?

During a recent 3rd (or was it 4th?) breakup with a man I’d seen for nearly 4 years, I holed up to heal, watched a few movies, and generally came out of my mouse house with a sense of freedom and motivation. Part of it had to do with the movie Under the Tuscan Sun. If you have not seen it, watch it. Or read the book, of course, by Frances Mayes. After watching the movie (though Mom did loan me the book a few years back, oops) I was determined that upon turning 40, were I still single, in an unfulfilling job, and generally not going in the right direction, by golly I would sell my house and its entire contents, save for a suitcase (and maybe a carry-on) full of my must-haves, and head off into the sunset. I’d chase the sun. Follow my bliss. Go west young woman. I told my girlfriends my plan, and for the most part, they believed me.  Fast forward a few more heartaches (a final breakup, lost job, dad killed in car accident) and a year later I’m single again and in the job of my dreams and that makes everything else seem darn rosy. So two years away now from my run-away dream deadline, and I don’t want to run away anymore.

In college, my best friend Lindsay gave me a t-shirt that said “Bloom where you are planted.” So that’s my new plan.

(p.s. That’s my mom and me, age 3, in the photo. When I gave it to her in a frame recently, she said my sister’s in the photo, too.  In vitro.  Smile.)