First off, I believe I'm getting a new job, which means there's a new way of life approaching. There's been a recession, if everyone hasn't noticed. I finally secured one, and two more have popped up, which just goes to prove that the whole feast or famine thing is alive and well. My present job has taken me on a very strange emotional and physical rollercoaster over the past five months. Of course, I'm one of those "everything happens for a reason" type people, but even I've had a hell of a time figuring out what I could possibly gain from this horrific thing I call a job.
For starters, I've learned that I'm stronger than I thought. And, I've learned that standing up for myself and doing what's right doesn't always get rewarded externally, but it definitely pays off from a personal growth perspective. I've learned that I'm pretty good at fighting the foo.
I'm 37 years old in August. This makes me one of those approaching-40-somethings who tries desperately to understand if she's accomplished all she should and thought she would by age 40; that age group that is no longer really allowed to wear extremely low-rise jeans and partake in outlandish behavior. The age that's too old to be on MySpace but way too friggin young to be considered middle age. Last night, I took my 14-year old stepson to his first real concert, and it was my favorite that tops all others, the Foo Fighters. Weirdly enough, the Foos have been around since my stepson was born. I've been a fan since, and I believe he became a new fan last night.
We were on our feet for three hours, through many headbangings, rock hand signs, all the way through three encores. For me, it was a religious experience. For Speedy, my stepson, it was a new world of live music he's never been privy to. Just when I thought I was the old chick with teenager by her side, the 20-something Marines on my other side offered to buy me a beer. Sweet, considering I could be their really, really older big sister.
To that voice inside my head who reminds me that I'm on the downhill slope to 40, I say "I just bought a pair of jeans at the Buckle and they make my butt look at least 32, so screw you."
To my stepson's first taste of Foo euphoria, I say, "rock on, little man....rock on."