Driving home in my car last night (at 7:45, mind you, after working for 11 straight hours without leaving the building), I was thinking of my life and where I am. Not just physically (i.e., I’m in my beloved Saab on a still-too-packed strip of Atlanta highway wishing I was already home) but mentally & emotionally as well. Many of the journeys in our lives are more than physical – they’re experiences where you finally find yourself in a completely different place than you were days, weeks, years ago. Often these metaphysical journeys are taken without even knowing it, and only in retrospect do we see how far we’ve come. So I started thinking….

Fifteen years ago, I was in Ohio, living in my house, at the very beginnings of adolescence and finally admitting to my friends (but not my parents) that I liked boys. Every day was an adventure, as we knew that the following year we would embark upon Middle School, the Penultimate Land of Cool. I played the flute. I was in the choir. I wasn’t unpopular, but I wasn’t overly popular either. Somewhere in-between, my best friend Beth & I loved our lives and still maintained the innocence that I’m so afraid that my children will no longer be privy to at this age. I hadn’t yet kissed a boy, but I had snuck into the boys bathroom once after a choir concert, thus making me feel all-too cool.

Ten years ago, I was still in Ohio, still living at my house, in the middle of High School. I was emerging from those terrible years where you really, really believe that you hate your parents for everything they do, for everything they say, and are just mortified that you are even related to these people. I talked on the phone – a lot. I (thankfully, as it was the antithesis of cool) no longer played the flute, I babysat on Tuesday evenings and the occasional Saturday night, and I was somewhat popular, but not so much in my grade than the grade ahead of me. I had crushes that spanned days, and kisses that spanned minutes, but was absolutely smitten with a boy who barely knew who I was.

Five years ago, I was a Senior at UNC. My tailbone was sore, as I had just fallen out of a (parked) car after a day of debauchery & post-GRE celebration. “Popular” meant nothing anymore, but I did know a lot of people. I found myself surrounded by the best of friends, and never had a quiet evening unless I wanted to. I wasn’t 100% sure what I wanted to do after Graduation, but knew I wanted to be in DC. Though I had lost some of the innocence of youth, I was protected in a town where everyone knew everyone else, where parties were open and where you could walk home by yourself safely. I was still absolutely smitten with the boy, and though by now he knew who I was, he saw me as merely a friend.

Three years ago, I was spending my first Fall in Atlanta. I was liking my job, the responsibility, but deathly afraid they’d realize that I really didn’t know what I was doing. I was mending a broken heart over an unworthy Englishman, and living by myself for the first time. I had a cat. Three years ago tomorrow, I would have two. I was not in credit card debt, even despite my (somewhat) exorbitant rent. I was in my second wedding, and had yet to worry about me not finding my prince charming – that thought never crossed my mind. I was young, I knew it, and I was living it up.

One year ago, I was finally starting a new project with my job, away from the most horrible people I have ever worked with in my life, the same people that caused me to cry nearly every day. I was painting the downstairs bathroom in my new house, a house that I owned, a house that I love(d). I somehow ended up the owner of three cats, and I was in a constant battle with cat hair on every surface of my house. I was wondering how my first Christmas without my father would be, as my parents had recently separated. I was pretending I was ok with everything.

One month ago, I was nursing a broken arm. I was befuddled in my love life, trying to make sense of it all. I was drinking too frequently and too often. I was worrying about anything and everything, and wondering where I fit in.

One week ago, I was preparing for my Halloween party, wondering how three cats could produce THAT much hair. I was working long hours, sleeping less than I should, spending more money than I had. I was wondering when I’d find “The One”.

And today? I’m still here, still shocked by mass quantities of cat hair, still learning from the successes but more from the disappointments, still working long hours, still wondering where I fit in. My naïveté has gone missing, with a stark reality in its place, a world where love doesn’t really last forever and there really may be no Prince Charmings. Where even best intentions can go awry, where my list of wants are great but my needs are somewhat limited, where complacency scares the shit out of me. Where I realize you can’t make something happen just by wanting it, just as you can’t ever make someone want you. And despite the frankness in which I relate these thoughts, I still feel that even on a gray day in Atlanta, when I need a few more hours of sleep and where nothing has really gone right, nor wrong, there is still a silver lining on one of those clouds. And one day, I’ll find it.