A Dangerous Game

Have you ever the played the mind game where you think about what your parents were doing when they were the age you are now?  Chances are, they were much more settled and domestic than you are.  I’ve found it’s a dangerous venture that can open up a minefield of self-doubt and judgment, so I try not to do it too often.  But sometimes I just can’t stop my mind from wandering and going to that place.  Yesterday, as I flipped through the pictures of my wild ‘n crazy Aussie friend’s birthday extravaganza, was one of those times.  I couldn’t help but take note of how different my life is from my mother’s.  At 32, Mom was fully entrenched in motherhood, with three small children, a husband of fourteen years, and a house in the country.  Here I am, same age, still unmarried (although happily engaged), flying solo in a foreign country on the opposite side of the world, and prancing around in shorty-short hot pants and thigh-high tube socks in public on a Saturday night.  I don’t think we could get more different.  (I also think I should point out that my crazy get-up was warranted, as it was a sports-themed costume party, so everyone was dressed wildly.)  Don’t get me wrong; even in these moments of introspection, I have no regrets.  I absolutely love the life I am living.  I don’t think I am cut out to lead a life of domesticity.  Despite that, I cannot help but make comparisons and wonder how I turned out to be the person I am.  It’s like I fell from the tree and rolled into a completely different orchard.  I guess I’m not the first person to feel this way.  Children grow up and go their own way every day.  I just don’t think everyone does so by donning red lycra…