


In two days I will be officially 32. And I’m thinking more about my son’s 2nd birthday in July than my own.
Yesterday we traveled to Charlotte to meet with a friend from London who was just in town for a wedding, and then was getting ready to fly off to Nigeria for work. She’s 31 also and had already been to more countries than I’m sure I ever will. Sadly, my international experience has been limited to Canada and Mexico. Driving to Charlotte was considered a big trip for our little family.
And as we sat, drinking coffee and trying to restrain the toddler, I have to admit I was a little bit jealous of her worldly ways. We’re the same age but in such different places in our lives. I can’t imagine what it’s like to wake up and not know what country I’m in, to be constantly aware of con artists targeting tourists, to have to hop off a 12-hour flight and go straight into a meeting, without even enough time to set down your bags. The only con artist I deal with these days generally has a runny nose and can be subdued with promises of The Wiggles.
Birthdays always make me introspective, but despite my unrequited wanderlust, I’m exactly where I want to be in my life -- surrounded by family and with a job that I love. My husband (who’s two years my senior) still teases me about getting older, about the gray hairs that keep cropping up at my temples (thank you, Miss Clairol). But I love our life, even if by some standards it might be considered boring. It’s pretty much exactly what I envisioned when Barbie and Ken took up residence in their dream house three decades ago. I wouldn’t change it for the world.