All this Beauty.

I have been putting some serious effort into organizing my life.  My bedroom is full of clothes I don't wear, books I don't read, magazines that should be thrown away, and shoe boxes that still haven't been unpacked since I moved back from Chicago.

Rather than find the appropriate places for these things, I have been shifting them from place to place (bed, floor, chair, bed, floor, bed, floor, closet).  In all of the rearranging, I stumbled across the journal I kept when I was a junior in high school and traveled to Europe.  I spent ten days traveling through France and Italy.  Before we left, my high school French teacher recommended that I keep a record of our "adventures".  Because I idolized her, I took her advice.

I was flipping through it, remembering how smoggy and malodorous the city of Paris was, how underwhelming the Leaning Tower of Pisa is, and how absolutely incredible Nice, Monaco, and Florence are.  At the age of seventeen I was blessed with the opportunity to see masterpieces like David, which I snapped illegal pictures of, the Mona Lisa, the Last Supper, the Sistine Chapel, the Rodin garden, and Versailles.  I had the opportunity to attend Mass led by the Pope himself.*

In nine days I will turn twenty four.  I have been mopy about my Birthday, as is typical for me, thinking about how I am getting older and how I haven't done anything with my life.  Bethany was married by my age, Jim was preparing to climb Kilimanjaro when he was 24, Jon was changing the face of Grand Rapids' neighborhoods with his design skills. 

I can't let myself become a bitter old woman in her mid twenties though.  I HAVE done things, and I am starting to realize how many more things I have to do with my life.  I watched the Eiffel Tower sparkle at night from the Seine, I got lost in the Vatican, I sang hymns for the congregation of the National Cathedral.  My research has helped schools in Florida and Georgia keep recess and PE programs, and I even touched Butch Walker.  Twice.

Sparkle Sparkle

Butch Walker, I love this man.

Yes, I have friends that are married, friends with kids, with mortgages, grown up jobs, and I think to myself that they are living their lives.  They are established.  But you know, the idea of being established is more frightening to me now than being 24, single, and living with Mom and Dad.  I am learning to embrace this ridiculous freedom that I have.

Maybe I haven't lived yet, but I have experienced.  I haven't peaked yet.  I have sixty years to peak.  Good things are coming, 24 will be good for me.  Who knows, maybe a refresher trip to Europe is in order....

*The Pope was presiding over the mass, we could have stood in the courtyard with the hundreds of other people, Jenny and I chose to go shopping instead.

Birthday

Today is my twenty-second birthday.

Not as magical as the twenty-first.

I'm going to be a bit melodramatic.

I've had trouble with my birthdays since I had my thirteenth. The big 1-3 is supposed to be the first milestone birthday. Its the foray into womanhood and so every prepubescent girl looks forward to it. I remember writing about what I wanted to happen in my purple diary with kittens on the cover. I imagine my plans were heavily influenced by my adolescent obsession with Sweet Valley Twins. It was to be my first boy-girl party. I knew I would get my first real kiss there. I would look fabulous in something sparkly and my boobs would automatically appear.

Needless to say none of those things happened at my 13th. We watched "A Bugs Life" in my basement and played on the trampoline.

After the 13th comes the 16th. Sweet 16. That's when that first kiss comes. That's when you wear something sparkly as well as the addition of kitten heels. You have fire eaters, dancers, and some C-list rapper. I suppose that was Chingy at the time. Also, parents are supposed to by their daughters fabulous bentleys with customized rims and Louis Vuitton seat covers.

Well no, I didn't wear anything sparkly, no one made out with me, and we had a bon fire in my backyard. I did not receive my Bentley, or my Mercedes, and Chingy did not show up. However some boys were present.

Then came the 18th. My 18th birthday was my last day of high school. It started with me getting a ticket for running a red light at 2AM, half day of classes, and ended with a trip to the beach right after school got out. Not much to complain about (except for the $100 ticket). I watched Zach Trumble fly his kite over the water and I swooned, despite his dad-like appearance. We ran around Grand Haven, got some pronto-pups, and probably laughed about stupid things. Still no Bentley, still no Chingy appearance, and still no sparkles.

I had to work on my 21st. In fact I had to start at a brand new job. I couldn't be hung over, I couldn't ask for it off, so I suffered through it. It was my first day at Nat City, so it was already a bit awkward. Throw a major birthday in there and it just didn't gel. However, we did go "out" that night after I got off work. Out to Friday's at the mall.

Lame Sauce.

So today is my 22nd. I'm a downer. I always want my birthdays to be huge explosions of joy and whatever else goes with that. They typically are not.

I DID get a cake from my co-workers.

Perhaps I will have a more jovial update for tomorrow. Here's hoping, right?