I am back from Mexico. Well, almost. Technically I am on a plane somewhere over the U.S., but by the time I am able to post this, I will be back. TMI.
So I survived a week without the Muffin. I knew I would of course, but it wasn’t always easy. The first few days were pretty easy as I was distracted with the novelty of an all-inclusive resort and simply put: down-time. It was lovely, but it got old. After the fourth day, I was ready to go home, even though I was having a wonderful time with my husband. This is not a complaint—I needed this trip and so did my husband and frankly, we needed time together. I am just saying I am glad to be home.
I know what you are thinking: I am nuts, to which I respond, if you have read this blog at all—duh. But I spent time thinking about this more trying to figure out what it was that was making me want to leave a place most people will never get to experience: pool-side waitresses seeing to my every need, a crystal blue ocean with sand like butter and warm waves. Was my inability to relax this bad, I wondered?
Then it hit me. I have a fucking fabulous life.
Lucky me! I have all the fundamentals of happiness: loving husband, hilarious and lovable baby girl, an interesting job, beautiful home complete with cuddly dog. The fucking American Dream. I have made all my dreams from my youth come true!
Now I want to mix things up a bit.
As some of you may know I turned 30 whilst in Mexico, the onset of a new era in my life, I decided. My twenties was truly about getting somewhere and being somebody. I would characterize that decade as my “drive” years. I had to focus on going to college, unlike my forebears, and choosing the right person to build a happy marriage with, also unlike my predecessors. Next came career, proud home and dog owner and finally motherhood. I spent the decade in my head, staying determined and focused and grounded with endurance that no one in my family has demonstrated before.
Now that I am 30, and have my life, I am no longer interested in drive. My next decade is the “passion” decade. I want to feel more than I think. I want to explore and be curious more than I create structure and order and stability. I want to make art and become a vegetarian and create a non-profit organization. I am going to embrace my more granola side. (Actually, funny story—we were at an Italian place in Mexico and they served a terrible coffee and these are the actual words I said to my husband “We should start a non-profit for coffee education:” final proof that I have assimilated into a true Portland bleeding heart.)
Anyway, I don’t exactly know what this decade of passion looks like yet, but that’s sort of the point. I will know it when I come across it.
It is good to be me, and thirty. I will miss the fried plantains, though.