I don’t know if I’m more hesitant about turning 30, or the fact that I’m in the last few weeks of my twenties. Thirty always sounded so old, and I think that’s what at the core of the matter, I’m freaking out about turning old. I don’t feel old, but I’m definitely feeling less young every day. This may bring some grief from both of my older readers, but I can’t really help it. There’s something odd about getting older. Potential energy transfers to kinetic energy. The Murtaugh list at 30 takes a steep climb in length. I hate to be a Debbie Downer on this, but it’s getting tough to sidestep turning 30, or dismiss it as simply ‘no big deal’. I also reserve the right to post another blog a few months from now and say that turning 30 is in fact, no big deal.
Anyone want to share their thoughts on 30?
I was hesitant about this becoming one of those ‘what’s the deal with airplanes’ posts, but that’s exactly what it is. So instead of shying away from it, I’m going to embrace it (which is probably what I should do about turning 30). Anyways, here we go with: “What’s the deal with…
…airplanes? I will never fully understand how thousands of tons of metal manage to fly, and I can’t dunk a basketball or keep a kite off the ground for more than 30 seconds.
…airplane food? It’s like preschool in here, we’re all quietly waiting for snack time. And it’s not even really a snack. Someone calculated exactly how many mini pretzels it takes to keep 132 passengers from turning into an angry mob. Now where’s my dixie cup?
…’that guy’ on the plane? He’s in sales. We know this because it’s embroidered on his short sleeved denim shirt. He’s been everywhere. We know this because he is telling his poor seatmate his life story. He’s loud. We know this because he is five rows back and I can’t hear the engine of the plane.
…security screening? I have to take off my sweater in front of a bunch of strangers that have waited thirty minutes to get to this point because only 2 of the 6 lines are open and I might miss my flight because you’ve screened an elderly woman’s bag multiple times because of some tweezers and you want know why I’m less than thrilled about the fact that I have to get some extra ‘random’ pat down by an overzealous agent? I understand the need, but there has to be a better way.
…the walk of shame? As much as I need to get up and stretch my legs, and possibly use the lavatory, I am very careful to do so in a very timely manner. You know that if you take too long your walk back down the aisle to your seat will be filled with looks from other passengers that read like a stopwatch. I can hear their thoughts, “You took a while buddy. You took a while which means this whole plane, this whole, enclosed, plane is now at risk of needing to open a window.”
…the lavatory? Is the bathroom called a lavatory anywhere else? I understand that it’s not really a bathroom because it’s next to impossible to bathe in there (although a former seatmate put that too a test one time) but where did lavatory come from? Next time I’m in a bathroom with no tub / shower I’m calling it a lavatory.
Speaking of bathrooms. I stayed with BestBuy and AwesomeMom this past weekend which always makes for a great time. It always feels like family there, which makes traveling a joy. This time around though, was a new experience for me, I happened to be visiting during ‘potty training weekend’ which is something quite out of the norm for me. It was funny though watching their little one run around the house stopping to pee every few minutes. To say that I learned a lesson in patience and love is an understatement. I think for mother’s day I’m sending mi madre a card thanking her for putting up with me during potty training. I hope it wasn’t too much of a burden for you mi madre, but I’m certainly appreciative of it now.
one love, one heart.
Axiom / Bill Hybels
Everyday Absurdities / Tyler Stanton
The Adventures of Bobby Ray / B.o.B.
Fire Away / Ozomatli