The Time of My Life

This time of year always seems to lead me to reminisce and remember past years. This morning as I was folding laundry I remembered being 19. The summer after my freshman year of college, I moved out of the dorms and lived with three 25-year-olds. One of my roommates was incredibly concerned that she wasn't married yet. She had some quote about "career women" and she was sure that she did not want to become a "career woman." For all her worrying, I remember she got married within a year or so after our summer of conversations about the woes of being single at the age of 25.

Well, as my nine-year-old brother loves to remind me, I will soon be a quarter-of-a-century old. And, from the looks of things, I'm very likely to still be unmarried when I turn 25. And, from the looks of things, it is even more likely that I will be a "career woman" for some unknown period of time after my 25th birthday- you know suits, office, heels, that whole thing. It's not quite what I expected for myself. I think my 19-year-old self sat there listening to my roommate thinking, "I probably won't have to worry about all this. I'll probably be planning a wedding by the time I'm in her shoes."

I was right, and I was wrong. I'm not planning a wedding, but I don't have to worry either. Because while I wasn't expecting the suits and the heels and the office on the 30-somethingth floor overlooking the East River and Central Park, I also wasn't expecting seeing myself (talking in front of people) on C-SPAN, chilling in Justice Alito's chambers before hearing arguments at the Supreme Court, taking a three day tour of New England with my college friend, visiting 15+ states in 12 months, listening to Handel's Messiah in the National Cathedral, hearing the Chaplain of the U.S. Senate talk about Thanksgiving with only a hundred other people, and seeing A Christmas Carol at Ford's Theatre.

How could I have ever expected the perfect bliss of waking up each morning to the sunrise and views of planes taking off from Reagan International Airport, of a morning run to the Air Force Memorial to see the sunrise over the Capitol, of Five Guys and crocheting with two of my favorite girls on a Saturday night, of sitting on a park bench with my family watching my brother play chess by the bay, of missing my turn while driving because my best friend and I were half-laughing/half-crying to Taylor Swift crooning "cause I had the best day, with you, today?" How can I worry when each year is better, happier, and lovlier than the last? When the increasing challenges and stress are accompanied by ever-increasing confidence and strenth? When moments of bliss and wholeness are more frequent and more clear? The reminiscing only makes me wonder why I ever worried and wonder what the next year will bring.