At fifteen, I loved a boy named John. I listened to Cat Stevens. I wore this Guatemalan woven hoodie with weird knitted, leather-soled slippers (I think we called them Afghani Freedom Fighters). Oh my goodness.
At eighteen, I loved Andrew. I listened to the Chieftains and the Grateful Dead. I think I had a pair of red jeans...can that be right?? I think I had red suede boots to match. I was getting ready to graduate high school.
At twenty-one, I loved a boy named Scott. I listened to Neil Young and Toots and the Maytals. I wore a brown Indian cotton sundress with Birkenstocks. I was preparing to go to Northern Ireland.
At twenty-seven, I met a boy named Robin. We fast-danced to Sublime and Dave Matthews and slow-danced to Nina Simone. I can't remember what I wore because when I think of that time, I just remember music, dancing, and being so in love. Then the plans began in earnest: a house purchase, a wedding, a baby, then another, then another.
Now I'm thirty-eight.
I woke up on my birthday to the padding of little feet, the smiles and joy of my children wishing me a happy birthday. They proudly gave me their hand-painted cards, each revealing the beautiful developmental stages they are in. I unwrapped three pairs of earrings and three beaded necklaces, all made by little hands. What bountiful gifts!
My husband brought in the CD player, and a hand-painted card containing a mixed CD. I lay back with a mug of Earl Grey tea, and just listened with joy to the music he chose just for me, and wondered at where my life has brought me so far.
At thirty-eight, I love a man named Robin. I also love our three children. I listen to Joel Plaskett, Amelia Curran, Lynn Miles, Feist, Blitzen Trapper, Bon Iver, and all those musicians I loved at fifteen, eighteen, twenty-one, and so on. I love my handknit socks and my yoga pants. As for plans, I can say that at thirty-eight, I feel the possibilities opening up before me as much as I did at fifteen.
For now, I'll just take more of the same, please.