A Painful Pride

Last Friday was a very difficult day for me.  I had to say goodbye to one of the only constant companions of my Twenties.  Or, as I figured it, I was having to Kevorkian my dog.  The way I felt that day was absolutely tragic.  I felt fragile and lost.  After the days I'd had in preparation, I didn't think I had any tears left by the time we arrived to the vet.  But I lost it.  I mean broke down and sobbed like I've never cried before.  Her enormous heart stopped before they'd even finished injecting the medication.  The moment they confirmed she was gone, the only emotion I could feel was lonely.

Back when I was a young and optimistic twenty year old adpopting my first pup, I guess I just always assumed that by the time she died, I would be married, or have a live in boyfriend, or own a house with a big yard and perhaps already have another dog.  I never thought, even in recent years as her health declined, that I'd be left all alone.  I don't have a spouse, or roommates, or kids.  For nearly a solid decade, that dog is who I came home to every day.  She was the one who greeted me at the door, wanting to hear about my day.  The one who laid with me as my tears fell onto her fur while consoling my heartaches.  The reason I had to get out of bed everyday, if only just to feed her and let her out.  When she died, my aunt and Sister were by my side and cried a few tears so I could cry a few less.  The incredible outpouring from family, friends I hadn't seen in years, and even a handful of demons, was something to be grateful for.  All weekend, friends and family made sure I didn't have to be alone.  I didn't even stay at home for two nights.  Still, without my baby, I felt incredibly alone.

But that outpouring has helped me to see a silver lining and something beautiful about it all. I had well wishes from countries she had never been to.  Friends from all over the US, who also spent nearly their entire Twenties with that dog, called and texted all the time.  That sweet and sometimes grumpy dog made an impact on this globe during her time here.  And I should be proud of that.  If I had never come along, she would have been euthanized years ago, never having the chance to experience a full and free life. Together, we traveled, attended keg parties, slept on random couches (and in my car), went rock climbing, snow-hiking, camping, swimming in rivers, danced at music festivals... The list goes on.  That dog lived an absolutely beautiful life and is known and loved the world over.  Thanks to me.  I take pride and comfort in knowing the two of us had a mutually loving bond, and side by side, we saved one another.  Her last few days were spent with me taking time off work to spoil her absolutely rotten and do all the things her old age had put on hold.  Just one last time.

May you always be so smug, My Girl.

Friday marked another monumental day in my life.  I should have been attending a baseball game and having beers and lunch bought for me.  It was my ten-year anniversary at my work.  Now come on, how many people reach ten freakin' years of employment at the same place before age Thirty?  Not too bad, in my eyes.  I love my career and what I do.  I may not be bringing home wads of cash just yet, and it hasn't been easy.  In fact, it's been downright painful sometimes.  But I am proud of myself and proud of what hand I have played in helping my company to become what it is.

Through all my self doubt and moments of feeling as I have wasted my Twenties, I can proudly say there are at least two things I managed to not completely fuck up.

Arriving

My last post was honestly quite down so I'd hoped to come back with something more upbeat to report.  Which is exactly what I am about to do.  So much in fact, I may be smug.  I may brag.  Deal with it.  Or not.

As I have stated before, (here, here, and most recently, here) I really fucking love my job.  This April will mark 10 years at my current profession.  I don't know many people who literally have ONE thing to put on their resume.  For that, I feel very fortunate.  In the last few days, something has clicked with me.  That I have arrived.  Cliche?  Definitely.  But I cannot think of any better way to describe how I feel in my professional life.

Last Thursday, I experienced the single most tiring and tedious, yet fulfilling day of my career.  For months, I have been working with other colleagues in my industry on a project that was unveiled at a the most posh and prestigious venue in my city.  Just being invited to work on the project is a tremendous honor in itself as the only vendors invited had to be considered only the best of the best.  The first half of the day was spent doing the "heavy lifting" and setting up our little masterpiece while the second half was standing in heels all dolled up and schmoozing with potential clients.  I already had a sense of pride that day as to what I was a part of.  But the cinch for me was late that night, when the head of the project, a veteran colleague who I respect very much in my industry, had a cocktail too many and proceeded to tell me how much she respected me and the level of professionalism I execute in my company.  It was magical and when I got to The Writer's apartment that night, I couldn't shut up about my very, very long day. 

Just as I started to step down from the very tall horse I'd been riding, I worked another meet and greet networking event last Saturday.  A pseudo-client, who I rarely work with as she patrons my company's competition, walked right up and introduced herself.  Although she has never made any attempt to hide the fact that my company is only her second (and sometimes third) choice, she went out of her way to tell me "You take amazing care of clients.  Everyone we have mutually worked with absolutely loves you and I want you to know how much I appreciate it."  Holyfuckingshit. Have I arrived? 

I am grateful my coworkers are like family and I have a great camaraderie among my colleagues and clients.  Truthfully, I don't even think much about going to work.  I am someone who actually enjoys getting up each morning to head to the office.  Because I am on a sort of auto-pilot with my career, it is easy for me to take my accomplishments fore granted.  It is all too easy to overlook the importance of what I do.  Now, I'm not rolling deep just yet.  Who knows if I ever will be.  But I take great pride and solace in knowing that the last 10 years of hard work have paid off at least in the sense of my professional reputation.  Sure, I'm not making the kind of money I would be if I'd finished that engineering degree.  At this point, I have realized I am okay with that. I have a decade of experience in a career I love.  More, I'm good at it.  Not many almost-30-somethings have reached the place I'm in.  And THAT, my dear friends makes my 20's seem just a little less wasted.

Night Cap Re Cap

Whew!  Now that I have had a little cheese to go with my wine, I will let you in on a little recap of some happier occurrences. 

The last week of work before Christmas was a breeze and bountiful on the gluttonous holiday office eating.  Biggest news of all: I recieved a HUGE end-of-year bonus.  It is no exaggeration to say it was ten-fold what I have ever recieved before.  Though the money is gratefully accepted, this is huge for reasons beyond the cash.  My company means the world to me and this is testament that we are finally succeeding in our fourth official year.  Furthermore, I am finally feeling compensated for my work.  This certainly helps to partly ease the almost-thirty-freak-the-fuck-out.  Though I promise; I'm still bat shit crazy enough to keep you entertained.

That bonus?  It was given to me about an hour before I left for an eleven day vacation.  Yep, hate me now.  This is the most consecutive days off I have taken in almost three years, so much needed, and deserved if I do say so myself.  I am currently sitting on a couch in my family's beautiful mountain cabin.  Yes, I know, I was just bitching about them.  But damn, do I love these people.  The last few days have been all about playing cards with my cousins. Frolicing in the snow with our dogs.  Cooking and eating insanely delicious meals.  Sleeping in next to a cozy fireplace.  If there is an afterlife, I sure as hell hope it looks something like this.

Last but most certainly not least, there is The Writer.  Oh boy.  This man may have me in for a doozy.  Last I time I gushed, I shared with you the events of Date #3.  Since then, we were able to spend a little more time together before we each left town to celebrate Christmas with our families.  Our most recent "date" was really more of a movie night at his aparment.  Of course, neither of us wanted the night to end so I stayed way past my bedtime.  At one point, he looked me dead in the eye and said "I really like you" then proceeded to rattle off ten reasons why.  Really?  This kind of romantic shit does not happen to me.  It's like my own real life version of Love Actually. We have continued the tooth-rottingly-sweet converstaion cross country via text messages and phone calls.  Thank god for my unlimited everything plan.  He is also my confirmed date for New Year's Eve.  Christ on a fucking stick.  I think I might be falling for him.  And yes, I have kept my panties on.  Yay, willpower!

The Kids' Table

I know I have sucked at blogging this week.  My sincerest apologies as I have been just itching to write. I certainly hope everyone has enjoyed their holidays thus far.

The main reason for my lack of posting has been a lack of material.  My other excuse is I am currently on vacation in my family's mountain cabin where the bandwidth has been in short supply.  Which brings me to this current post for your reading pleasure.  Looking back at my very first post, this whole blogging experiment is to help me sort out exactly what I have done with the last decade of my life while preparing myself for the next.  And yes, I am in a bit of a freak out knowing my time in my 20's is running out.  My family certainly doesn't help with that anxiety.

Let me firstly say, I love my family.  I abnormally love my family.  We are all amazingly close to where even friends have commented it's a little freakish.  Just last night, some cousins and I were joking that we are perhaps more accurately considered a cult than a family.  The blessed life I have had would be impossible without them.  But here's the thing, I am almost 30 years old. (I know, I'm beating the dead horse with that one.)  Yet, although I am the oldest member of my generation in my family, I am still treated much the same as the other members of this generation.  My family is young.  I have an uncle less than 10 years older than me.  His wife is only 4 years older than me.  An aunt of mine is the same age as my last serious boyfriend.  However, they are in The Grown Up group.  And I am left somewhere at The Kids' Table.     

Yeah, it's unfair when I don't get offered a glass of wine because the host or hostess "forgets" I am 7 years over the legal drinking age in our state.  And yes, it's unfair that I don't get introduced or included in meetings and conversations with adult family friends and neighbors. I must admit though, if I were to tell my parents how I feel about this issue, they would hammer home the following:

•  You didn't finish college so you aren't a grown up.
•  Because you didn't finish college and get an engineering job, we still have to help support you so you aren't a grown up.
• You don't have a mortgage so you aren't a grown up.
• You aren't married so you aren't a grown up.
• You don't have children of your own so you aren't a grown up.
•  If you were a grown up, you would be paying for this cabin. So you aren't a grown up.

Fuck!  No wonder I have a complex and insanely major anxiety about turning 30!  What about 40?  Will I still be at the Kids' Table at 50?  Am I required to have a high paying job, husband, home owners insurance and children to finally be considered an adult member of this family? I feel stuck somewhere in limbo.  In a parallel universe.  Alone amongst my own people.  Truly, I feel like shit about myself.  This is just more proof at how much I suck at life and what a failure my 20's have been. 

What's Going On?

This shit's been going for almost a year. And just today I realized I have a little under 400 days left in my 20's. 393 to be exact.

Unfortunately for my mental well-being, society would have us believe what exactly twenty-somethings are supposed to be doing with their lives:
Graduating College
I stopped pursuing an Engineering degree to go full-time at a job I love but pays me barely enough to survive
Using College Degree to Obtain a Decent Paying Career
See above
Purchasing a Car
Thanks Dad!
Owning a Starter Home 
I rent a basement apartment I can barely afford
Falling in Love
The only long-term relationship I have managed to NOT completely fuck up would be the one I share with my dog
Starting Families (Or at least thinking about it)
Hah!

Honestly, I have perhaps always been a bit of a rebel.  Thus not exactly keen on what society or its authority expect of me. And I do enjoy my life.  I'm busier than hell, have a great group of friends, I love my job, my family members are close and amazing, and I have had the opportunity to love.   Yet at some point, I have begun to ask myself if I made the right choices?  Where did I go wrong?  Why am I here?  Does it get any easier?  WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?

So here I am.  In my basement apartment snuggled to my dog. For the next 400 days, I will be chronicling what I do with the last of my Twenties, all the while exorcising the demons and bullshit that got me in this mess. Who knows?  Perhaps this will help build a less rocky foundation for my third decade at life. Sure is cheaper than a therapist.