>Thirty-two

>It doesn’t seem that special.  It’s not the age at which you’re legally allowed to do anything for the first time.  It’s not a multiple of ten or five that lets you celebrate a new decade or being halfway through.  My husband pointed out that it’s two to the fifth power.  My stepfather wished me happy 10,000.  They are both computer programmers of one sort or another, so they’ll forgive me if I didn’t see the interest of the number the way they do.

Thirty-two.

I don’t know where I thought I’d be by now, but it wasn’t here.

Here.  In Washington, so freaking far from most of my family.

Here.  At home, alone with two boys, thanking my lucky stars that they are taking their afternoon naps at the same time.

Here.  On leave from a career I’m still unsure of.

I thought by now I’d have met more of my life goals.  I thought I’d HAVE more life goals.  I keep looking around, wondering what I’m doing here and where There is going to be.

Birthdays are different now.  I didn’t want any particular thing.  I just wanted some sleep, a happy birthday from my guys, and a little time to think about my life.  I got all three, along with a brownie that Sebastian sprinkled for me with leftover sprinkles from his birthday.  The time to myself came as I sat, eyes closed softly, while a lovely lady at the hair salon washed, cut, and dried my hair.  I couldn’t believe how relaxing it was, a testament to how hectic most of my other moments are now.

But I still don’t know what I think about my life.  I feel lost, awash in the everyday-ness of it all, unable to look beyond Tomorrow or maybe Next Week.  I read and am impressed by so many people in real life and in the world out there… people who are making a difference, pursuing their dreams, starting new careers or side projects, creating beauty and order… and I feel… flat.  How can I fail to be inspired by these amazing examples all around me?  Instead I feel embarrassed that I am just sitting here, self-indulgent as I type in this blog instead of finding my passion and running away with it.

I’ve told myself many times that my children are my passion right now.  Spending these early years with them is important, to me and to them.  It’s true and yet I have a hole where something else belongs.  Something that is uniquely me; something that is a purpose.  I just haven’t found it yet.

Thirty-two was never a particularly special number to me, but maybe it’s the bend in the road.  Maybe the rest of my life is waiting around this corner.  I guess that’s what I’m about to find out.