Had my younger self caught wind of all the big things going on in my life right now, she never would have believed it.
My preteen self would be awfully disappointed about the way things shook out. I am not a famous Broadway star. I have not had any plastic surgery. I do not own a swimming pool with a huge deep-end nor an Icee machine of just red and blue. Most years, I miss out on going to Kennywood (even though I now live within a few miles of the joint). I have not tried to find out where any of my celebrity idols live and casually run into them at local bars and restaurants. What a waste of adulthood!
Really, though, I’m not talking about this self. She was a baby and kind of out-of-touch with reality, no? I’m talking about the younger adult me… even who I was 7 years ago wouldn’t have fallen for this shit.
Every once in a while, I have these moments where I can see myself so clearly—objectively almost—as an outsider would. More aptly explained: it’s like I am the observer seeing someone else entirely. I’m not sure if this is common or normal or anything, but it isn’t something I do on purpose. It’s like my brain is thrust just out of frame. (Dissociate, much?) As weird as it can be, it’s been a useful tool, like superhero-strength awareness.
Anyway, this happened the other day after I parked my wheels, as I was taking in the events of the day, taking inventory of the worries and thoughts circling upstairs.
Holy shit. Who am I? None of these things sound like the me I knew.
I have to admit I got a little panicky. I mean, if this isn’t who I thought I’d be and what I thought I’d be doing… is this actually what I want? As I write this here, I’m realizing just how melodramatic this all sounds. Ha! But you have to understand, I live my life at a pretty fast pace. At the beginning of our relationship, A used to laugh astonished at “how many days we had” that day. She caught her first glimpses of how much goes on in a day when you spend it with me.
Because I live this way, it seems more likely that I might wake up one day like “OMG, WHERE AM I? HOW DID I GET HERE?” That shit is terrifying.
Exhibit A. Motorcycle
Yeah, you heard it here, folks. The “chicken” is rolling around on two wheels. As of recently, I have graduated from the scooter—which was already a mind fuck, to be honest—to a motorcycle. I never ever ever ever wanted to ride on one, let alone own one. I thought it foolish and frightening. I mean, why would anyone put themselves in danger like that? And unnecessarily so? I know now.
Exhibit B. Stained Glass
It’s not that stained glass isn’t beautiful. I’ve always found it fascinating. I got a taste for it in 11th or 12th grade, when I went with the Art Club to a local stained glass studio to learn how and to make a suncatcher.
But let’s be real: I can barely wash the dishes without cutting myself. Glass? Lead? A 600˚F soldering iron? Get out of town.
I know there are more dangerous arts and crafts, but this one is certainly up there for the likes of me. Besides it being risky to the digits, creating stained glass takes some serious time, practice, money, attention span, etc. But here I am and I’m loving it. I started producing it for 1flychicken creations and selling my suncatchers at art events and online.
And the coolest part about it is that people seem to be digging it as much as I dig making it. I am so excited about it. It’s bananas.
Exhibit C. House?
No way. I still can’t believe it. I have flat-out told people—even just months ago—that I would never buy a house. I don’t even watch HGTV. Nope. Hell no. And don’t you even try to talk me into it.
Why was I never into the idea of buying a house? BECAUSE. I. CANNOT. BE. FEELIN. TRAPPED. IN. ANY. WAY. More debt? Unforeseen issues I may have to shell out for? There are so many reasons to be absolutely terrified of owning a home. I am not rich. How do people do this?
But would you look at the damn thing? It’s incredible. We fell in love instantly. It’s just as charming on the inside, if not moreso. It’s perfect in so many ways, not just because it’s so quirky and fun looking… but I’ll stop here, because this could easily become a tribute to my new digs.
So listen. Besides the threat of losing the house in some way or having to sink a ton of money into it, my worst fear is becoming on of those people, the middle-aged, handy home-improvement types. You know who they are. They always have a project going on, always in the home improvement stores and aisles, always wanting to talk about what they’re doing to their house like anyone cares.
Likewise—and these folks fall into the same category as the people whose lives are dictated by their dogs’ bathroom routines (sorry!)—I just refuse to spend so much time on the house that I never leave to have a life/socialize. You know the type? If you’re not sure, just ask them what they’re up to this weekend. These hermits are likely to respond in one of the following ways:
“Welp, I’ve got to stain the deck this weekend.”
“I’m probably going to re-grout the tile in the bathroom.”
“I’ve got some plans to sand, stain and refinish the kitchen cabinets.”
Nooooo! That sounds awful and boring and isolating. I don’t want to miss out on life because I’m too busy working on my house. That’s exactly what I don’t want to do. But I know me. I know that I take care of things, that I like to learn new practical skills, that when I put my guts into something, I go all the way… please don’t let me become a home improvement hermit? I’m counting on you.
Are you a home improvement hermit? How do you manage your time? Do you hire out for your maintenance work?
Gulp.
