I mowed my own yard for the first time in my life.
This is an important milestone for me. Sure, I have mowed yards before. Hell, when I was living with my parents for the first 19 years of my life, I mowed the front, side and back yards every two/three weeks for a good 10 of those 19 years.
But this is different.
This is MY yard. And _I_ mowed it. With my own lawn mower.
Truly, it is the small things that make this life what it is.
Now, you may think I am excited and exuberant and all other kinds of happy and or accomplished. And for some part, you my be right. But I am also unsure, scared, afraid, unsettled, and maybe even a little trepidatious at the prospect of actually having grown up.
I realized this as I was driving home from work today. Mowing my own lawn is that last step in the suburban coming of age. I am now responsible for the appearance of my house and indirectly, the property values of those around me. We will NOT be the blight in this neighborhood. (well, at least not from the curb).
I honestly didn’t realize how deeply this move was going to (and has) effected me. I am trying to fight this off. I don’t want to grow up. I was comfortable as a 20 something wanna be. I knew how to act when I wasn’t able to get what I wanted. I came to expect that I would always have to settle for something less than top notch. Never doing something the “right” way, but rather doing what we could to get by and fake it. That is what I knew in my adult years thus far.
But ever since this sale/buy/and move, things have been upside down.
Now, we have been able to do things the right way. We have put though into home decor and design to be sure there is continuity and a flow. We have actually shopped at “real” furniture stores rather than Ikea (because we simply couldn’t afford anything BUT Ikea for a long time). I plumbed the ice maker line with more skill and forethought for long term problems than I would have a year ago. Everything we are doing seems to be at a higher quality than the way we would have done it a year ago.
All this, and I turn 30 this Sunday. Any outsider reading this may think that these two things go hand in hand and would conclude that I must be going through some sort of mild mid-life crisis. But that isn’t the case. My emotional state and my 30th birthday actually have very little connection. I never put any stock into birthdays, and as a result, don’t see them as major milestones like so many others do. It just so happens that one of those little life occurrences that I DO see as a major milestone have happened in relatively quick succession just prior to my 30th.
Perhaps, the birthday isn’t important at all, but has become so in the larger social aspect because of the correlation tied so closely to major life events around the major Birthday marks, like 18, 25, 30, and 50. Perhaps through history, those who turn 30 are also making major life changes too, thus causing society to relate the birthday with a major change, and over the course of time we have forgotten the change, but remembered the birthday?
Something to ponder while I go eat dinner. At my table, in my dining room, with my plates and silverware. sometimes I really do believe that is is good to be me. 🙂