The Contingency Plan

I wrote a list of dreams and goals when I was 13 years old. The list lies in a box full of diaries kept at my father's house but I can still remember some of the items.

I wanted to fall in love, live in a funky city apartment, have a successful career, surround myself with gorgeous girlfriends, get wiser with age (ha!), posess an enviable wardrobe, beautiful shoes... I loved writing these kinds of lists. Life was fresh and there was so much to anticipate.

While hanging out with Alannah and her irresistable children today, she looked me square in the eyes and said, "Umi, I never thought my life would end up like this."

Tired of neverending housework, child-rearing and neglect from herself and her selfish husband, she was exhausted and flirted with the idea that this may be it. Thirteen year old Alannah wouldn't have been happy to know her older self.

When I was 21 I started a dot com with a friend. We managed to secure VC funding and hired a fabulous team of employees, which included a respected journalist as our Editor. One day she looked at me with the same expression Alannah did today as said, "Oh Umi, your drive reminds me of when I first started my career. I thought my words were going to change the world but that's all gone now and I'm just a jaded old bag.

"I think that's one of the things that surprises me the most when I look back."

Naturally my life hasn't quite worked out the way I thought it would. When I look back there are plenty of unexpected events and no, they're not necessarily bad, but sometimes I do miss being thirteen.

yeah, I'm not old--but people keep threatening me indirectly that I'm no longer young . . .

I'm scared that the past 6 mos has turned my soul to jade--and not the lovely marble type either . . .

I've never understood the bag metaphor--does it have anything to do with sagging breasts?

pardon a moment of introspect:

i never consider myself vain (no make-up or high fashion clothes/shoes--i am no friend to marketers/advertisers of useless products) until something goes "wrong" (thinning hair, a dubious roll of fat from no where, a new mole, a tooth beginning to turn) . . .

i am concerned about the variety of choices "out there" & the consequences of making a wrong choice . . .

when i was 13 it was all about survival & i'm depressed at the moment b/c nothing seems to have changed . . .


uh--ooops, excuse me, this is your blog! ha!

Oh SQ I love your comments!

If the bag metaphor is true than I'm in trouble. Breast feeding does terrible things to one's formerly perky boobs.

Perhaps the bag name came about b/c it rhymes with hag? Because of olden-day bag ladies???

And I hate those threats of getting old. The only problem is that sometimes I do feel so cracked and faded and others like I'm still 19.