Okay, so 28 isn't EXACTLY "pushing" 30, but it's more than "just over 25."
I've been thinking lately about all the things that I have learned or changed my opinion on in the last ten years or so. I don't think I've necessarily grown up, per say, but I've definitely decided that some things I thought were a big deal are, well, not so much, and visa versa. Here are some of them:
-Bottled water is a ripoff. Unless there isn't a tap with potable water around at all, it's much cheaper (and better to the environment) to carry around a reusable bottle and refill it, or just order tap water. I don't always follow my own advice, but it's something I definitely think about more than I used to.
-Recycling is important! I used to think nothing at all about throwing away cans and bottles, especially if they had food waste in them. I used to be a huge baby about touching food waste. I still don't really like it (I would probably try to be an escort before a dishwasher) but thinking about the giant amount of trash sitting around, not decomposing, is kind of depressing. Sure, sometimes I still throw away paper. But I feel bad about it now.
-Doing housework is a lot faster than sitting around for weeks and dreading doing housework.
-Pets are awesome, but pets are expensive. And time-consuming. Make friends with pets, and petsit.
-I used to think I was sooo uncool when my mom would make me wear a helmet while riding my bike, but now I fear looking uncool without a helmet. Uncool and suicidal.
-Healthy food actually makes me feel better. Huh. Who woulda' thought?
-Caffeine does absolutely nothing to me, while alcohol knocks me out cold. So much for a lunchtime martini!
-Knowing about all the finances, whether combined with a partner's or not, is sooo important. I realize now that I couldn't count on one hand the amount of times I took interest in our finances when I was married. I would buy books, go to the coffee shop, and annoy Tom to death for something I didn't even fully grok doing. Bad Kate.
-The freedom from not having a television is worth the hours spent online. Most of the time.
-Walking a mile in the city is shorter than walking a mile in the country. Try it sometime and you'll see what I mean.
-I wear glasses. Holy crap I wear glasses!
-I have curly hair. Where was it hiding all those years? Oh yeah, up in my ponytail. Dur.
-Writing fiction is a hell of a lot harder than it used to be, when I would get lost for hours at a time writing complicated (and horrible) plot lines out on yellow legal pads in the back of my parents' minivan.
-Owning the "cute" car does not equal owning a good car.
-Geeks/Nerds are my people.
And age, of course, is relative, and I don't know if it becomes more relative the older you get, or the farther along we get into the new millennium, where 40 is the new 30, 60 is the new 40, and 21 is far too early to get married.
What have you learned since you've become an "adult"?
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Saturday, July 10, 2010
A New Story
The first Saturday after graduation, Kate woke after a blissful 10 hours of sleep, put on the coffee, and stared at an empty page.
She had forgotten how to start a story.
She hadn't written a new one since November, due to thesis revisions. That one, inspired by a conversation with a friend, came out of almost nowhere. This time, there's no one to talk to but the coffee.
It wasn't as though interesting things hadn't happened in the last couple of months. It was just that those interesting things hadn't sparked any narrative for Kate, who was generally a "write-when-inspiration-strikes" girl and not a "write-every-morning" girl. She got ideas sometimes, and put them on post-its, or in little notebooks, or as a memo in her fancy phone.
There was a post-it right now, in fact, that pale institutional yellow, tacked to the bulletin board over the desk. On it was an idea for a story about Wonderland, that end-of-the-blue-line disappointment that must sound like heaven to a naive child. But the note was partially obscured by another, this one cheerfully purple, that read, "Your mountain adventure awaits!" -- her graduation present from Joel.
She ignored both notes and pulled a few small notebooks out of her bag. This would normally be the time she would give up, journal, and write a blog post about how being a writer is hard. But now that she's graduated, she no longer has the excuse of "in-progress." She no longer has the luxury of deadline inspiration. This was work, now, albeit a work she generally enjoyed. And she didn't just leave the office every time she became frustrated with filing or updating the database, did she? So she must now not leave her desk. It was Saturday morning, and she was still in her pajamas, but it was still work.
So she opened her little notebooks, found a scrap of something she'd written a while ago, and try it out. If not this, something else. Then something else. Something, sometime, had to stick.
She had forgotten how to start a story.
She hadn't written a new one since November, due to thesis revisions. That one, inspired by a conversation with a friend, came out of almost nowhere. This time, there's no one to talk to but the coffee.
It wasn't as though interesting things hadn't happened in the last couple of months. It was just that those interesting things hadn't sparked any narrative for Kate, who was generally a "write-when-inspiration-strikes" girl and not a "write-every-morning" girl. She got ideas sometimes, and put them on post-its, or in little notebooks, or as a memo in her fancy phone.
There was a post-it right now, in fact, that pale institutional yellow, tacked to the bulletin board over the desk. On it was an idea for a story about Wonderland, that end-of-the-blue-line disappointment that must sound like heaven to a naive child. But the note was partially obscured by another, this one cheerfully purple, that read, "Your mountain adventure awaits!" -- her graduation present from Joel.
She ignored both notes and pulled a few small notebooks out of her bag. This would normally be the time she would give up, journal, and write a blog post about how being a writer is hard. But now that she's graduated, she no longer has the excuse of "in-progress." She no longer has the luxury of deadline inspiration. This was work, now, albeit a work she generally enjoyed. And she didn't just leave the office every time she became frustrated with filing or updating the database, did she? So she must now not leave her desk. It was Saturday morning, and she was still in her pajamas, but it was still work.
So she opened her little notebooks, found a scrap of something she'd written a while ago, and try it out. If not this, something else. Then something else. Something, sometime, had to stick.
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