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I woke up on my thirtieth birthday to find that my vageen was gone. Metaphorically, yes. Literally… eh, perhaps. Maybe it wasn’t so much that I realized it fell off, but that it wasn’t what it used to be. So more accurately, I woke up on my thirtieth birthday and I found my balls.
When I turned thirty, people would say stupid shit to me like, “Don’t worry! The thirties are like, totally the new twenties!” If that’s true, then I don’t want any part of it. Look, I’ve done my twenties and I had a great ass time, but I’m ready for what’s coming next. I’ve written in the past that I’m on the road to finding myself and I want to take the carpool lane. But I’ve come to realize that I’ve been riding all alone. And if I don’t get out of this HOV lane soon, I’m going to get a ticket.
Alone. Now, that’s a word that I’ve grown to understand. Don’t start feeling sorry for me just yet. Often times, alone and single are equated to be the same thing. Well, it’s not. I have been in relationships practically my entire life and some of those days were the loneliest moments in my life. Those are the relationships you keep in the trunk: they weigh you down, they can’t even hear you over the stereo and they’re trapped somewhere they don’t even want to be. But you keep them there because it makes you feel as though there’s someone else in the car with you. Trust me, they don’t count. The po’s will still pull you over.
I woke up on my thirtieth birthday and didn’t realize right away that there were balls where my vageen was. It took another 3 months for me to get bold enough to grab a mirror, spread my legs and take a real good look. Yea. Those are balls. I realized just then that I wasn’t doing it all wrong; I was doing it all right. For the first time in my life, I was single. And not lonely, just alone. I didn’t have to reaffirm my identity and my self worth by the man that I was with. I was so used to revolving my life around someone else. But now, I was finally starting to live for myself.
Once upon a time after a painful break-up, I walked into the grocery story and felt completely lost. Normally, I would walk around the store and say things to myself like, “Oh! So-and-so loves eating that! That’s what’ I’ll make for dinner”. Or, “I should grab some of that because so-and-so doesn’t have anything for lunch”. But this time, I didn’t have a so-and-so to buy groceries for. It was just me. And for the first time, I realized that I had been so busy taking care of so-and so, that I forgot how to take care of myself.
Yes, I am that girl who has had a boyfriend since the age of 8. The craziest part is that I never even want one! The notion of changing my relationship status on Facebook makes me want to break out in hives. It’s not the commitment of it all that scared me so much. It was the idea that I had to share my journey on this road with someone else… and that along the way, they might exit. I developed this incredible defense against auto-theft by pushing away anyone who got too close. Step within the vicinity and the alarm would go blaring off.
I am afraid, no petrified of letting someone into my life and then having them disappear. I’m not just talking about boys right now; I’m talking about anybody. The thing is, I grew up moving around a lot and it really fucked me up in spectacular ways. It made me a really lonely little girl who grew up in a fantasy world of books and stories. It also shoved me into a disposition of quirky behaviors that people seem to think is endearing; however, that is still yet undetermined. And more importantly, it made me almost fearless. Except for one thing: closeness.
Growing up as the new girl all the time was scary. Kids are fucking mean, yo. I mean really, really mean and I could go on for days with stories of all the mean things that kids did to me. I wont get into it, but because of all of these past experiences, I became a master at making friends, but not keeping them. I would move to a school and become friends with someone for a few months, but then I would move again. So what would be the point of getting close to anyone when they all disappear anyway?
And so here it is: I am afraid to be close. When I turned thirty and grew some balls, I also grew the cahonies to start making lane changes to exit the carpool lane. I started letting people in the car with me regardless if they’ll see the mess in the backseat. I started sharing my life with people in ways I had never done before.
I love telling people that I’m thirty. Okay, I love doing it because I’m azn and will probably look 30 until suddenly I’m 112, sitting on a mountaintop with an aura of enlightenment glowing about me. But really, its because I’m not that lonely little girl anymore. I have a home base of friends that will grow old with me, as well as a group of ladies that let me be a stupid crazy girl if I want to be. And I’m dating. Online dating! Holy shit, I’m really putting myself out there! I mean, I’m just… figuring it out. I’m letting people in and sharing the road.
I want to roll the windows down and turn the volume up. I want to watch my dog’s head look aerodynamic and feel the wind blowing through my hair. I’ll even let the little Persian lady pass me up in her Mercedes and give me the finger. Trust me, I’ll smile at her, wave and give her the finger back. I want to look beside me and watch my passenger stick their arm out the window… gliding their hand through the wind singing along to, “Rolling with My Homies”.
So what if I’m single… for once, I’m not alone. And if some brave guy comes around, I’m not going to tie him up and stick him in the trunk next to the brick of cocaine and dead hooker. Well, unless he thinks that’s hot because I’d be down for that. I’ll share the road with him for as long as he wants to come along for the ride. Because, fuck it! I’m thirty and a growns up now. I can’t be riding dirty forever! And it’s not funny ghost riding the whip if no one’s there to make sure your joke doesn’t turn into an insurance claim. And you know what? Maybe… just maybe… I’ll even let him get behind the wheel.
Talk about letting go.
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