The main difference between me at 20 and me at 30 is that now I know myself much better. Also, I am much less likely to stand up my family or fight with my roommate.
I know now that when it seems nothing is going right and everyone and everything is massively annoying, there might just be a meaning behind all of it, and I might be thankful for the turmoil that is currently making me grind my teeth in the end, so maybe it would be best not to completely freak out.
Thankfully, I had a chance to exercise this newfound skill on my 30th birthday. To prove to myself that I was a true adult now, I had decided to celebrate with a family-friendly weekend in Chicago, complete with trips to obnoxious toy stores, naps, chain restaurant food, and before 11 pm bedtimes.
My hope was that by being a little more selfless and focusing on my son’s enjoyment I might kick off the decade in a more peaceful, harmonious, and grateful state than I had entered it – since I celebrated my 20th birthday by standing up my own family for my birthday party and getting in a dramatic argument with my best friend and roommate.
Hopefully I’d left much of the ego-driven thinking behind me by now – the kind of self-preoccupation that leads you to be so in your head, so desperate to fill your own un-ending needs that you forget your dad is ordering one of those giant, long party subs from Subway for your birthday, and that you’ve been friends with your roommate since third grade and the divide in your current political beliefs (which will all change significantly depending on which classes you take next semester) may not be as big of a deal as you think.
We started the trip to Chicago by leaving too late to make the commuter train we’d been hoping to ride into the city. This was my fault. I didn’t leave work on time, and was unfocused during my last-minute packing session. But this was okay. Mike downloaded an app that allowed us to find a low-cost parking spot downtown for the car, and we concluded we would save time and money with this alternative plan anyway. How resourceful!
But our resiliency wore thinner as the city grew nearer. Instead of being awe-struck by the tall buildings visible from the highway, Brady complained of car sickness from all the stop-and-go traffic. And the crowded streets and necessary lane changes and inconsiderate drivers seemed to be weighing on Mike too. I just sat lazily in the passenger’s seat, absorbing the tension and lamenting the lack of dazzle in this birthday thus far.
Then we got lost. Our GPS failed us, and then lost service to boot. My mind grasped for someone to blame, tried weaving together a sob story about the way my birthday was turning out as I searched for a puke bag for Brady and suggested route alterations for Mike. We got snippy for awhile, then we got quiet.
Finally, the hotel. Brady could get out of the nauseous back seat and breathe fresh air, we could all stretch our legs, and soon we could change our clothes and head out on the town for dinner. Mike dropped Brady and me off at the door, and left to park the car.
When Brady and I approached the Front Desk, we were notified that there was no reservation in my married name, my maiden name, or even any possible combination of my married and maiden names. My mind wanted to blame the Front Desk agent, but somehow I was nice to her. Or at least I think I was nice to her. You never quite know how your emotions might be shining through your façade of pleasantries.
Brady and I sat in the lobby as I scrolled through emails on my phone, searching for a confirmation number.
“Mommy, will we have a place to sleep tonight?” Brady asked. This might sound precious now, but at the time I thought it was the most heinous thing a child had ever said.
“I don’t know,” I snapped, “But it’s not my fault!”
Turns out it was my fault. After throwing in the towel on finding a confirmation email, I decided to start the reservation process all over. In doing so, I realized that when I had made the reservation the first time I had missed the part where I hit the confirm button.
But fortunately, crisis was averted and there was indeed room at the inn, just under a new reservation.
By the time we checked into the room, it was nearly 8 pm and we hadn’t had birthday dinner yet. I thought about rushing us all into new clothes and heading out, but I knew it wouldn’t work out well.
Even though the situations had all worked themselves out, I was still somehow full of the blame and entitlement and annoyance. I considered eating or drinking it away, or maybe just throwing a good ol’ fashioned tantrum to let it out, ruining everyone else’s night. It was, after all, my party – and I could cry if I wanted to.
But instead, I thought about what might actually be effective in turning this night around, drawing on what I’ve observed about myself in the past 30 years. You need to exercise, a wise, 30-year-old voice said to me.
We went to the pool. Mike and Brady swam, and I did a hard work-out on the treadmill, the kind that makes your lungs burn and helps you breathe the fire out, and pushes the toxic thoughts out in your sweat.
When I was done, I went to the pool to check on Mike and Brady, and Brady was swimming for the first time without a life jacket or swimmies. The boy who had been gagging into a McDonald’s bag in the backseat of the car and inquiring if he would have a bed to sleep in 30 minutes earlier was now excitedly demonstrating his range of available jumps into the pool, which included belly flops, 360s, pencil drops, and “just regular”s. After a quick healing shower, we dressed and headed out onto the town with our 5-year-old at the highly irresponsible hour of 9 pm.
When we entered the restaurant, which was festive and filled with all adults, at 9:15 pm I felt a light tinge of worry about being judged for having my kid out so late. But then I remembered how grumpy and unbearable of a family we would have been at 8, and how resentful I would have been if we had not ended up going out for dinner, and that when it comes to parenting it might be more important to be happy than to be good.
And we were happy. We shared the news of Brady’s new swimming abilities with our waiter. He lit saganaki on fire and Brady’s eyes lit up with an irresistible combination of fear and amazement as we shouted, “Opa!” We shared several platters of food, and three Greek men sang me happy birthday, and I was insanely sleepy and contented by the time our cab arrived.
Back at the hotel, Mike went to the bathroom and came out to find Brady and me already asleep and snuggling. It was a wonderful birthday.
And I wonder if any of that wonderfulness would have been possible without all the ickiness earlier in the evening. It’s possible that I wouldn’t have fully enjoyed that fried cheese if I hadn’t had a good work-out, and I never would have worked out if I hadn’t been infuriated, and I never would have been infuriated if both the drive and check-in process hadn’t been a nightmare. Thank you, faulty navigation! I never could have savored the cheese without you!
And it’s also possible that without that horrendous car ride, Brady would have not been pushed to finally conquer his fear of flotation device-free swimming.
I don’t think that good things magically happen after bad things do (though sometimes they might), but that often our own discomfort propels us to do things we otherwise wouldn’t, and that can create positive change. Sometimes nights are just disasters and that’s the end of the story. But sometimes, you can turn them around because you have a little more experience than you once did.
Simply Happier 