A Birthday Blog

One of my most vivid memories comes from the night before my 16th birthday. August 1, 2002 I spent the night with some of my good friends. It was summertime. We were at that really perfect age, teetering on finally being old enough to drive, old enough to be a little closer to free. I remember we went driving late that night. I was in the backseat. My two good friends in the front. I remember the windows were down. It was sticky outside. Middle of the night but still too hot. We were driving on the interstate. Air blowing so hard through the car that the music on the radio was barely audible. We weren’t talking. There was nothing to say. It was one of those times when you feel so real. I remember thinking in the back seat of that car that I would always remember that moment. I would always know the smell of that summer night, the hum of those tires, the feeling of those few minutes. I don’t know why, but I was right. I still remember that night. I remember being jealous of my two friends. I remember thinking that their life had to be easier to maneuver than my own. My mom was sick, really sick. My dad and my brother had battles of their own that they were fighting. I was stuck somewhere in the middle with an uneasiness that occasionally visits me to this day. I wanted to be young and free and 16. I wanted not to care about anything other than that night. That moment. With the wind and the heat and the car.

A couple of days ago I found myself in a really odd parallel to that night from a decade ago. On August 1, 2012 I was on a school bus on the way home from a volleyball camp with my girls from school. It was hot on the bus. The windows were down. The conversations from the kids behind me barely audible from the rumble of the bus on the interstate. As my left hand floated out the window of that school bus the other night I remembered my 16th birthday eve. I remembered that indelible moment in the car with my friends. I started trying to picture that kid. On a school bus full of 15, 16 year old girls, it was hard for me to imagine that I was ever that young. It was hard for me to understand that literally a decade ago I was their age. And as I sat on that hot bus I thought about how weird life is. I thought about how unrecognizable I would be to that kid in that car ten years ago. And yet how I am so very much that kid in that car. Still dealing with a mom with cancer. Still spending a lot of time in a gym. Still riding in cars on summer nights looking for those moments when you feel real. Alive. Relevant.

I don’t like birthdays. Don’t get me wrong, I am so very grateful for a chance to be on this earth. But every birthday seems to bring an inventory of my current life. An inventory that inevitably makes me feel like I am too far behind or too far ahead. An inventory that never makes me sit back and think that everything is just where it needs to be. 26 is a weird age. You’re more than half way to 50. Closer to 30 than 20. And a long way away from 16.

And yet, the other night when I turned around to tell my kids (for the second time) to quit encouraging truck drivers to blow their horn at our bus, the faces that stared back at me were not that far from my own. In those kids eyes I saw myself a decade ago and a little bit of my almost 26 year old self. I resolved on that bus to make 26 a little easier than 25 was. I resolved to be a little more patient with my kids at school. I resolved to remember that everyone is fighting a battle (including myself). I resolved to be better at life than I was at 16 because in an entire decade of living I am bound to have figured something out. I resolved to be more grateful. More at ease. More loving. And more real. To look for those moments in life when the wind blows through the windows of a car and the struggles that weigh you down are a little less heavy for a few minutes. Still there, but a little lighter. This I will do as a 26 year old.

And thus, I decided I should start writing again. Something about writing this silly blog makes things in my life make a little more sense. And a decade from now the thoughts of my 26 year old self will most likely be as funny as my 16 year old self is to me today. And no, I’m not pregnant. The last time I started a blog I was getting married. I have no life-altering announcement as of now. However, can you imagine the analysis that will take place if I am ever harboring a small human inside of me? Put your seat belts on folks. I’m back in the blog saddle!