I can't believe the entire month of January, the beginning of a whole new year, passed by without a single thought from me. If I'm being honest, there hasn't been much worth sharing as I've been preoccupied with, oh let's just say it, The Big Day.
Coming sooner than I'm comfortable with is the anniversary of my birth - an event that, like all of my favorite celebrations, my only contribution to was showing up. Most years I simply nod in the general direction of the calendar and get on about my whatnots. But lately I've spent an inordinate amount of time mulling (read:obsessing) over my "legacy."
Who DOES that!
*raises hand guiltily*
Just to be 100% clear, I'm not staring out the window with a glass of wine questioning my child-free environment. At first that was first by design, then not so much. Either way, I imagine it was definitely for the best of everyone hypothetically involved. I only bring this into the conversation at all because it is, in fact, people's sniveling, over-indulged little brats running rampant through the supermarket who are circumstantially their legacy. They must be so proud (*sarcasm*).
In an effort to shake this funk, clearly the first recourse was to kick-off an assessment around where I am and how I got here. It was horrendously obvious within the first moments of that exercise what a huge mistake I'd embarked upon, so I immediately shut it down out of my newly recognized sense of self-preservation.
So what now...
Well obviously more wine.
To bore you further on this topic, there's this story whereby the... circumstances... around my birth served as a catalyst for unanticipated family behavior. It's a story better left untold but the point here is that said circumstances were, I believe, the reason my Nana said to me at least ten thousand times, "You're going to do something extraordinary." That woman was a saint, but as I flip the calendar year after year, I'm really feeling the pressure of what that meant. What the fuck was I supposed to do and how did I miss it!?!?!? I am after all, wholly self-involved and hyper-observant, so this seems like a freakish oversight on my part.
My like-life friends of a certain age all assure me this hysteria is perfectly normal; that I should refocus my energies on things infinitely more important, such as the comparative value of preventative wrinkle serums versus genetic predisposition (use it, or don't bother - buy shoes instead), are red shoes really just for children and whores, and organizing a wine-soaked group analysis around whether my legs still hold up to short hemlines.
I started to make a Bucket List then realized that like New Year's resolutions, it's stupid to set myself up for failure like that. Besides, I couldn't really think of anything. I'm too practical. If I could afford to see the Kremlin, I'd instinctively spend the money finding out what's going on with the foundation of my house instead.
So, let's recap. No kids of the two-legged variety left behind. I have a cool day job but gawd knows I'm not saving lives up in that piece. Maybe all I need is a new theme song to play in my head.
*walks away humming*
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