All good intentions aside, of which I have none, I spent the morning on the phone with my college roommate. And all we decided is that after 50+ years of life experience...we don't know shit. For real.
In nine months The Nice Kid will be able to drive. This means...let me repeat myself...that for the first time in nearly 30 years, I will not be driving a child to an institution of learning. Hot damn. I can get a job. Or go to clown school. Or build rock walls.
Except I am clueless. Clueless, intimidated, lazy, unmotivated and mired. Sitting here, sipping bourbon and growing gardenias and ferrying children and...stagnant. There's mold on the bread in the kitchen moving faster than I am...more purposefully, too.
And it turns out? It's not just me. Everywhere around me are middle-aged women, looking around, asking WTF? and wondering just...what do they want to be when they grow up? If you ask? Nine out of ten often aren't doing what they want to do...but they don't know what that is.
The problem is...we don't know where to look. To find out what we want to do. No one ever asked us before, and we never really stopped to think about it and then there were these KIDS and a mortgage and then there's a yard and the mess in the house and...oops. Even those with jobs....College Roommate has two engineering degrees and worked in her field for a while...aren't doing what they want to do.
So you just watch. Sometime within the next six months, in between "Walk Off Ten Pounds Before Lunch," and "Declutter Your House For Less Than Fifty Cents," Woman's Day or Family Circle magazine will have an article on some enterprising soul who came up with this idea to help talented, skilled, lost middle-aged women find their paths. And said talented soul will be booking it to the bank to deposit the proceeds from this great idea.
While I'm still sitting here, rooting gardenias and not running 10K's with my kids.
I grew some miniature gourds. Reckon that counts?