Over the past decade, I have somehow become a full blown grown up. I have managed to check off every box on my "adulting" list - married to a terrific guy, mother to two beautiful children, own my own home - check, check, and check.
We laugh a lot, host dinner parties, and travel fairly regularly. I've had a great corporate career which I've recently stepped away from in order to spend more time with my family. My credit card debt is minimal, and my dogs are cute. Overall, my life is pretty great.
So why do I feel like something is missing?
As a stay at home mom, I find that I spend a lot of time just snuggling my baby in silence while she sleeps or has a bottle. During that time, I have tried to figure out what this sometimes suffocating emptiness actually is.
I am crazy about my husband. Six years into our relationship and I still get butterflies when he smiles at me. He is brilliant and good looking and funny and the absolute best father. My daughters are beautiful and sweet. My oldest is my strength, and has given me reason to get out of bed on my hardest days. My youngest is my light, and has reminded me how magical even the most mundane moments can be. I have a nice two story home in a safe neighborhood, with large bedrooms, multiple bathrooms, and lots of natural light. I have four dogs, which admittedly is a lot, but they are silly and friendly and bring a lot of love into our home.
I combed over every part of my life searching for holes and came back empty handed.
And then, after countless hours of reflection, it hit me. I'm bored.
Not in a "I've gotta get out of the house, maybe I should go back to work" kind of way. This boredom runs far deeper. Over the years, I had become lazy in my comfortable life. Suburbia had sucked the joy from my bones and replaced it with complacency.
The guilt that came with this realization was staggering. How dare I be bored when I have so much?
I struggled for weeks with this knowledge. Tried to pretend it didn't exist. Tried to rationalize it away. Told myself that this was the trade off for everything that I have, and that this is what is best for my family. But no matter how deep I tried to bury it, the feeling nagged at me.
Finally, I broke down and confessed my feelings to my husband, fearing that he would feel inadequate or think me ungrateful for our life together. Instead, he encouraged me to seek out more adventure, and only asked that he be included whenever possible. (and thus reconfirming that he is the greatest husband on the face of the planet!)
Being the avid listmaker that I am, I decided to try a 40 Before 40 list to keep me on track.
My goals are as follows:
1. perform in front of an audience
3. finally finish my damn Starfleet Academy degree
6. ride a horse
7. skiing (water or snow - whatevs)
8. write a book
11. climb a mountain and yell from the top
12. ride a roller coaster. a big one. willingly.
13. full on spa day
14. swim with dolphins
15. go on a trip via train
16. learn the ukulele
17. mermaid school
18. say yes to everything for an entire weekend
19. travel abroad
20. put soap in a public fountain
21. volunteer at childrens hospital
22. take a road trip with no particular destination
23. konmari all my junk
24. learn to knit
25. wine tasting at an actual vineyard
26. ride in a helicopter
27. build a bear
28. learn a second language
29. create a YouTube channel
30. finish an entire coloring book
31. give christmas gifts to the homeless
32. make every single thing in a cookbook
33. learn a dance
34. watch all the disney movies in order of release (the real ones not the made for TV nonsense)
35. zip lining
36. grow something and eat it
37. white water rafting
38. visit all 50 states
39. hot air balloon ride
40. actually finish making a gingerbread house
I'm terrible when it comes to sticking with things. My closets are full of half stitched clothing, half finished paintings; every week I throw out half eaten vegetables. This blog has been no exception. I can't promise weekly updates, or monthly, or any arbitrary schedule of updates. I will, however, use it to chronicle my attempt at reclaiming the zest I possessed in my youth.