It is endlessly fascinating to me how a bunch of girls who all started out at Point A (aka Mrs. S's kindergarten class) could now be leading such incredibly divergent lives, winding up at points B through Z without any predictable pattern. More specifically, it's endlessly fascinating (and equally terrifying) to me that most of the girls I grew up with are already married with children. Some of them are even already divorced from their first husband and on to another. That, to me, is truly mind-boggling, especially since this year marks only ten years out of high school.
We tend to believe that whatever reality we're living in is the real reality. Yesterday I asked my grandmother how a distant cousin is faring after college and what she's been doing with her life. Her telling reply was, "Oh...she's off finding herself somewhere." I could only nod in approval. My reality for the past ten years has been, "finding myself," I suppose. I've never felt any sort of internal pressure to settle down; quite the contrary, my goal has been to have as much fun as is humanly possible before life forces me to settle down. There's this nagging feeling that's been in the pit of my stomach for a long time. It says: There's so much more to be done.
My boyfriend and I have what I consider to be a pretty nice life together. We have a wonderful home that is equidistant from both a wine store and a used book shop. We live in an area that is teeming with history and agriculture. We have a video game console on which I can play Super Mario Brothers 3. All things considered, I'm very happy. But ten minutes spent on Facebook stalking girls I grew up with is enough to make me think that I'm either doing something really right with my life or something horribly, irreparably wrong.
Every so often I'll flick my biological clock; just give it a tap to make sure it's still ticking and it certainly is. Just very quietly. There's no cuckoo bird popping out on the year to remind me of my advancing age. If I didn't have a doe-eyed, silently persistent mother (who's very fond of giving me gifts meant for infants) I could probably make it to forty without even batting an eyelash, which makes me think that maybe this is as settled as I'll ever get.
So do I consider myself, a, "found," woman? Not entirely. I'm just way less lost than I was ten years ago.