There I was in Best Buy, patiently awaiting the arrival of Murs – apparently a famous underground rapper – along with about 20 other anxious teens.
I had been assigned to interview the dread locked, sweatshirt wearing artist by my editor – pinch hitting for our A&E reporter who had another meting to jet off to. It wasn’t the first time I had gone into an interview thoroughly confused about what I was supposed to ask. Nathan owes me. Oh look! The latest Fleetwood Mac greatest hits CD! I wonder if it has Sara on it…
Snap. It was then that I realized that I was old.
The feeling has been creeping up on me for a good six months now. I love my job. I can’t sleep past six. Most everyone within my age group is either married, on their first (second or sometimes third) child, attending grad school, getting professionally established or going on an LDS mission.
As a waited for the arrival of Murs, thinking that I needed to look up that collaboration between John Denver and Pavoratti, I realized that I had gone the night before to grab sandwiches after the UNR game with a group of girls who had just graduated from high school. And I was in the office working again by 10:30.
Yes, I felt oddly out of place in the crowd of hip, edgy music fans at Best Buy. But it was the catalyst for my evolution. It struck me that I am ok with my work-filled Friday nights. Yes, I own a pants suit that I have to take to the dry cleaner regularly. And I do look at those Facebook pictures of me dancing the night away in bare feet and a barely-there dress with a tinge of regret. And that is ok with me.
Is my life over? No. It is just starting. Maybe I will go hiking tomorrow. Europe after graduation might be nice … And wasn’t I going to spend some time playing in New York? And then there is that marathon, and my new mountain biking obsession. I think I will also get my yoga teaching certification.
Now if you will excuse me, I am going to put on my Fleetwood Mac on iTunes and finish my paper. From there, the world is my oyster.
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