Feeling At Home

Yesterday was good. And I've decided that it feels pretty good being 31. When I woke up the first thought to go through my conscious mind was that I've reached a plateau in life, a level place--those non-years between the age of 31 and oh, 39. It's those years that you never hear much about. The years that people just work hard, do what needs to be done, struggle, question their lives, work more, start aging, blah, blah, blah.

I imagined this plateau to look like somewhere that I've driven through, somewhere dry and in- the-distance; somewhere that I wished I could climb to the top of and see forever, dissolve into the vastness. But it's also somewhere dusty and beige. It's a nondescript place that looks good in the distance, but is boring once you get there.

However, being fond of open places, I've decided that having reached a level place isn't all bad. A couple years ago I took a cross country bike trip from my driveway in Becida to the Rockies. It required pedaling through hundreds of miles of plains--those open places that stretch out forever and we think of being flat, flat, flat. But what I remember most from the trip is the rolling hills, unexpected contours, the beauty of the landscape. And if the 30's are like North Dakota, then I think I'll take the road less traveled. The one that runs, not straight, but diagonally across the state.

Yesterday V. spoiled me, he spoiled me, he spoiled me. We spent the day bumming around town, ate lunch at the Wild Hare, bummed around some more, decorated the Christmas tree, went out for dinner and then a movie. After midnight we stood outside under a dark sky of fat snowflakes. They drifted down slow. The tree glowed through the window. There was quiet. And for the first time in a long while--I felt comfortable in my own skin. Nothing's changed overnight but, surprisingly, I am enjoying my view from the plateau.