Exit 30
I could not see past around the age of twenty-six with how far ahead I catapulted myself into the future. For someone so keen on planning, I did not conjure the manifestation of my late-twenties or further. I figured that was when everything would have already clicked into place. Like a passenger fumbling around the car trying to match my seatbelt hook with its holster, by that age — *CLICK* — I would have met the love of my life and we would be smooth sailing on the road. It would be. all. happening.
The rest would be a cascade of domestically concentrated events that would take place from my late-twenties onward, driving me forward into the decades ahead. But, a few potholes cracked the surface of the pristine pavement along the way, derailing all traffic.
One year away from turning thirty, I thought things would be a certain way by this point in time. I am now at this point in time and they are not, in fact, that way.
To be clear, I did take all of the measures that were advised. I abided by the traffic laws on the road with full intention of staying on course. I dated — leading to relationships. I nurtured friendships — enduring the tumultuous twenties (ones that also buoyed me when the relationships fell through). I entertained hobbies. I kept routines. I took care of myself.
With a roundabout detour put into place, it is easy to let out a sigh of inconvenience at the added time and unfamiliarity with new streets and terrain to drive through.
Somehow, after all of the seemingly unnecessary twists and turns, with the assistance of a few bright orange cones, signs with gigantic arrows, and occasionally the help of someone more familiar with the terrain, arrival at the intended destination feels even more well-earned.
Those friendships, hobbies, routines, and self-care practices manifested into what I end up relying on: a stable support system, especially during one of the most challenging times in recent history. Even the failed relationships have their own place in my personal growth.
Being here, now, is actually more freeing than the years counting down to the present day’s imminence.
In this reality, in my reality, the safety-feature-equipped sedan turned into what more closely resembles a New York City subway car. One that — of course — has no seat belts, a few stainless steel poles to hang on to, and a vague promise of getting me somewhere in some amount of time (pending the day of the week, the volume of train track trash fires, and the stop in mind) and while the destination can feel uncertain, it can also, more often, feel limitless.
Things are. all. happening.
A bundle of insignificant and significant events have congealed together, gaining momentum and hurdling me forward — whether I like it or not — the vehicle of my life presses onward, bringing me along for the tumbling, tumultuous, terrific ride.
