I went to a Pentatonix concert on Sunday night. They sing a cappella. I have a geeky and committed relationship with a cappella music, so when N. was offered a ticket to the show last minute, he graciously passed it on to me, kept the babe and sent me on my merry way.
I met up with some college friends. Some have graduated. Some are still in school. All of them are still cool. They were part of the a cappella community that I so loved when I went to JMU, and it felt so good to be with some of them again.
They are wild. And funny. And dramatic. And quirky. And self-deprecating. And they sing things that you would usually say. They're loud. And huggy. Very huggy. That's something I always forget about college--all of the hugs. And they're so very happy. I absolutely love being around that kind of energy.
But I couldn't help but think the whole time,
Man, my life is so different now.
One of the best parts of my night was carrying an actual purse instead of a diaper bag.
I had so much fun. I hopped one someone's shoulders in hopes that I would get called on stage. I shuffled up as close as I could to the front and my cheeks got red-hot from sharing such a small space with so many dancing bodies.
And it was just like the old times except for one feeling that kept bobbing up and down in my mind:
this, alone, isn't enough for me anymore.
I used to be able to survive off of the passion and thrill of being young and free and having no schedule and no real responsibility.
And now even when I try to enjoy my independence I feel an invisible string connecting me to home, and there were times I had to force myself to stay when I wanted to go back home, kiss my baby, hold my man and get in my ever-loving bed.
I don't think they would ever say it to my face, but I'm fairly sure some of my friends consider me a cliche. Get married, get steady job, get dog, have kid, stay at home, join mom groups.
And, yes, on the outside, that's exactly what I've done.
But the best part is that I finally don't mind being predictable or normal.
As simple as it may sound, I feel like I'm exactly where I was meant to be. Exactly.
Do I miss the glory days? Sometimes, when I'm feeling frumpy or cranky or invisible.
But most of the time, I'm so very happy. And so very content to be right where I am.