So much to write

I'm home now. I go back to school on Tuesday next week, and the kidlets come back the Tuesday after that. Summer is almost over for me.

It was a good one, this summer. I saw a lot of old friends, and had fun. Spent time, probably too much, thinking about who I am, and who are the people I choose to be in my life. And of course, those folks who choose me to be in theirs.

Kevin asked me, after we got back to his house after my birthday dinner,

"So, what are your goals for your 43rd year?"

I had to think. Some things can be set as goals, like losing another 35 pounds, and others are more difficult, like falling in love.

Hmm... my biggest goal this year will be to figure out what I'm going to do next. I love my job, love the life I have, but I don't want to be living this same life when I'm 52. Where I want to go, what I want to do next, now there's the real question.

Do I really want to go back to school again? Maybe. Teaching at the college level is quite appealing to me. Research is appealing to me. Writing, real writing, not this verbal masturbation that is my blog, is appealing to me. Frightening too. What if I'm not good enough?

Santa Barbara is beautiful. I am a lucky girl to live here.

I need to move.

Where to? I don't know. I like big cities, and I like rural areas. Not so much into the suburbs. The roots I have here, plus my mom living here, make it difficult to imagine leaving. Fear is a factor.

And then, cluelessness about where I want to go. I mean, I don't want to move to Chicago or Boston, just because they're cities I like. I also don't know anyone in either of them. The idea of moving, just for moving's sake seems crazy. Moving to a place where I have friends? Washington DC, Seattle, Montreal, Albany... I don't know. San Francisco? Maybe.

I'm thinking that might be the place I'm headed. I know it's just as expensive as here, but it's still in California. It's a big city, but friendly. Lots of choices there. Lots of things to do.

Of course, the one friend I had that lived there just moved to Los Angeles. So again, starting out anew, knowing no one.

Traveling alone, I meet more people. I'm sure moving to a new place alone would be the same. On the other hand, it's pretty fucking lonely at times. In DC this last week, I went to every museum and monument by myself. It wasn't like I was chatting up anyone in front of the Hope Diamond. I loved everything I saw, but it was a bummer not to share it with someone. I hate being by myself so much. I'm good at it, I deal with it, I don't hole up and wait for someone to call, but I don't like it.

Okay, so mostly what I just wrote is what I said to Kevin. I talked too about how I never imagined being single, without kids, at this stage in my life. Never. Never ever did I think I'd be the one alone. I've gotten past the sadness about it, most of the time. I'm not bitter, but it does take some real reworkings of my view of things.

I have to keep saying to myself, "What doors are open to me now, because of the life I have?" and not consider what "might have/should have/could have been."


Then, I ask Kevin, whose 43rd birthday is in two weeks,

"What are your goals for your 44th year?"

And get this... he says,

"I don't have any. I've reached all the goals I've set for myself. I wanted to move to DC, and I did. I wanted a good job, and I've worked hard to get the job I wanted. I wanted a relationship, and I have one. I even have the house I wanted. Nope. I'm not setting any goals right now for myself."

Huh.

In one way it's great. In another, it seems almost sad to me. I can't imagine reaching all my goals. Then what? Because really, aren't goals intertwined with dreams? With hope? Maybe that's it. Goals are hopes that are made tangible. When you have no more goals, does that mean you have no more dreams?