Thirty and Lost

At thirty years old, a woman should be confident. She should know what she wants in her life. Most of all, she should know where she’s going. At thirty years old, I am not this woman. I don’t really know what I want in life and I definitely don’t know where I’m going, in both the literal and figurative sense.

Yesterday, my lovely friend, Janet, invited me for dinner at her gorgeous new apartment in the city. I drove to her place after work and parked two blocks from her house. When I reached her flat, I could already smell the delicious roasted bell peppers and mushrooms in the oven. Also on the menu were pan seared orange roughy and homemade pesto pasta. For dessert, she split two very ripe figs and served them with Greek yogurt and honey. I sighed in content after devouring a fabulous meal and sharing delightful conversation. At 10:30pm, I left her apartment and headed back to my car to go home.

The night was beautiful and warm, by San Francisco standards. I inhaled the fresh air. A couple walking their dog stopped and smiled at me. San Francisco people are so friendly, I thought to myself. I walked two blocks to my car, keys in hand. Oops, no car. I must’ve walked the wrong direction. I turned around and trotted past the couple and their dog again. This time, they gave me a funny look, probably thinking I was following them. A few minutes later, where was my car? I turned around, passed the couple for a third time, who, I’m positive, were now whispering about me. Another few blocks, still, no car. Scratching my head, I thought, I don’t get it? How could I lose my car within a two block radius?

Hubs knows I have absolutely no sense of direction. I will find a way to get lost anywhere that’s not a mall. If I’m near a Nordstrom, I’m game. But outside of that, I couldn’t tell north from south if my life depended on it. Hubs bought me a Garmin GPS last Christmas because he was tired receiving calls from me whenever I got lost. After 10 months of living in SF, one would think I’d know my way around. It’s surprising the new and inventive ways I can get lost within a city that’s seven miles small.

After twenty-five minutes of cluelessly wandering the streets of San Francisco at 10pm, I decided I’d better call Hubs to come pick me up. I would’ve dialed Janet’s number first, but I was too embarrassed to explain why I was standing outside her house when I had left a half an hour go. Hubs made me call her anyway because he didn’t want me wandering like a sheep in New York City, which is basically what I looked like, leftover fruit tart in one hand, cell phone in the other, scratching my head at each stoplight.

Janet is a good friend. She’s the kind of friend that will make someone feel better after they’ve done something really stupid like lose their parked car. She’ll say nice things like, “don’t worry, everything looks the same in the dark” or “this neighborhood is really confusing.” I’m glad I have her as a friend. I feel like less of an idiot.

Anyway, Hubs came and picked me up. We drove around and found my car, where? You guessed it—two blocks from the apartment. (I swear it wasn’t there when I looked.) I mean, who does that kind of stuff at thirty years old? Who loses their freakin’ car?

I think the car situation is a metaphor for my life. I’ve been feeling rather blasé lately, mostly about my job and such. At thirty years old, it’s about time I stop and figure out what I want to do. Life is too short to mull along aimlessly. I should decide what I want to contribute to society and how I’m going to get there.

Now, if I could only remember where I parked…

Here’s a virtual hand stamped thank you card for Hubs (thanks for marrying me and saving me from my idiocy) and for Janet (thanks for making a delicous dinner and humoring my cluelessness.)

Supplies: PTI aqua mist ribbon, SU cardstock in river rock and groovy guava, SU stamps, VM ink, MM binder clip