I was minding my own business a few weeks ago when I got "the call" -- that dreaded, shrill ringing of my telephone bearing news just short of a death in the family. It was a former high school classmate asking for my assistance in organizing our 20-year class reunion.
Could it be 20 years already? I shuddered. Cold chills went up and down my spine as tiny beads of sweat popped out on my forehead. What had I done with my life the past 20 years?
It's amazing how a brief phone call can totally turn one's life upside down. Suddenly, I began hearing those 1970s songs in a different light, realizing that Mick Jagger was over 50, "Smoke on the Water" never did make any sense, and my "Seasons in the Sun" had literally faded into oblivion. Had the sun set on me already?
I glanced in the mirror. (Okay, I stared.) I examined every tiny little crevice and pore, from my hairline down past those "smile lines" to the base of my neck. No double chin yet, I thought.
The next few weeks were pure hell. Each day began with a grueling training program -- a 6:30 a.m. run in a futile attempt to shed the unsightly baggage that had accumulated on my thighs. I went shopping for the perfect dress -- the one that would make me look 20 years younger. I found out they stopped selling them around 1975. Three dresses later, I came to my senses. There was only one logical explanation: I was having a mid-life crisis.
I realized that the funny, crunching noise I heard each night on the stairs was my knees. I had seriously considered adding "potty training expert" to my resume as one of my greatest accomplishments. Bran flakes had become a daily routine -- and not by choice. I held Tupperware parties just to count my friends.
Life hadn't turned out as I'd planned. Sure, I was happy. I had a wonderful husband and two great kids at the center of my life. But somehow, working part-time as a secretary and a mom hardly fit my teenage self's definition of "most likely to succeed." Had I really wasted 20 years?
Just as I was ready to give up and decline the invitation, my seven-year-old tapped me on the shoulder. "I love you, Mom. Give me a kiss."
You know, I'm actually looking forward to the next 20 years.