Birthdays, traveling and children invite self-reflection in ways that surprise us sometimes. Fortunately, I've had an ample supply of both over the past few weeks. Working the salt mines of childcare brings you face to face with a thousand little inquisitors armed with the latest in pop-culture and a nose for deviancy against what they consider to be the natural order of things. My lunchtime interrogation squad did its work quickly today, inquiring my age, whether I had resolved my Peace Corps service over the weekend (I had taken off Friday, after all) and why for heaven's sake wasn't I married? I startled myself by using age to dismiss the marriage part. Normally, I invoke Africa like the bogey-man to explain everything that's going on right now. Late for work? Oh, thinking about Africa. Puked more inappropriately than usual? Yep, that's the Malarone. Not married? She'd be too snug in a carry-on. Normally the conversation then segues into a request to violate the Endangered Species Act (Zebras being a perennial favorite) and I can escape.
In this case, the reason I used age was because I meant it. And its not because I don't think 22 year olds should get married (though I do). Its because I'm not ready for that level of permanence to my life. It isn't even the whole 'waking up next to the same person for the rest of your life' thing. Well, it sort of is. But not the way you'd think. Honestly, the scariest part is the idea that the expectation would exist that I would have to be the same person everyday till the end as to not upset the balance that facilitated getting hitched in the first place. Maybe you're just supposed to find the person that you can manage those transitions with. Or maybe I'm just a 22 year old spinster like they say I am.
