If I could relive any age. It'd be 24.

With each birthday I wince a little more as I'm closer to needing Juviderm, a boob lift, a newer version of Mr. Wookie, and more candles on my cake. At 20, I thought 25 was old. At 25, I thought 28 was ancient. Now I have a sibling, his wife, and friends in the 30's category, and I can't believe I'm almost there. Shit. Where'd my young appeal go? Where did the 'it's appropriate to get black-out drunk at 21 and stand out on the corner in my underwear because I was dared?' (Umm...parents, totally...uh...not true).


But unlike people my age who are telling me to 'settle down' and that I need to grow up, I feel like there's a little something wrong and that you're only as old as you feel - and let's be honest, I feel pretty spry...as long as I've had my 8+ hours of sleep. Uninterrupted.


Yeah, I think I'm in geriatric country seeing as I'm in bed a little after 9pm after I rinse out my glass of Metamucil and put my dentures to soak. Fail.


So when you work next to someone who just turned the ripe age of 24, you can't help but tell her that was your favorite year. I had just graduated college months before, and had spent a few weeks galavanting around the German countryside and cityscape as the first member of the family to 'jump the Pond' spending my hard-earned money with style. Then later that year, I was literally on an extended vacation with Mr. Wookie while he was stashed in Florida before flight school (we extended the need for one-way ticket back to Oregon as long as we could). Don't know about my thoughts on Florida? Read here. We were traveling all over the Southeast, hitting up Disney World as my birthday present, and enjoying that new found money commissioning earns you. And also enjoying the quality of life 4 fresh Ensigns gets when you combine BAH and rent out a $2,000/month home complete with semi-indoor pool. I had maybe a few hundred dollars to my name, my life in storage back home, and not a care in the world in terms of responsibility (didn't have any) or needing to begin my career (it's true, you have the rest of your life to work).


There's something about traveling when you're young. I say 'do it.' While you regret purchasing that hat in Berlin, you'll always have the memories of experiencing another culture and seeing more outside of your own community. The hat may make my pictures look dated, but the times I had there in the Englischer Garden in Munich with my litre mug and pretzel remind me of a time where locals would come up to me and yammer on in their native tongue. Uhhh, sorry y'all. I'm an imposter. That sense of accomplishment that I'm capable of traveling outside the country without being identified as an American...that is until I speak; I love that. And I want more of that.


She says she wants to travel before getting tied down with marriage and kids - and as a pretty stiff feminist in that realm, I can only fuel the fire. Yes, there are instances where you can travel after marriage and kids (as in OCONUS orders with the Army, etc.), but how many people do you know that say they'll travel but then never actually do? I know lots. There is a certain gusto that being single and uterinely unused brings to life. You can do stupid things (tattoos, Vegas, that porn career you've always dreamed of). The notion that there's literally nothing holding you back. You can die without anyone relying on you for support. Life gets much more difficult after you spawn. With a dog, you can just board them. With a human...you have to either connive Grandma and Grandpa for take them for a few weeks.....or.....uhh, I got nothing. See? Much more difficult. And even if you're trying to take in a European babymoon, you're still lacking a lot of the culture (because who really goes to Germany for the food - COME ON, it's all about the beer!). 


This may be why I'm fretting about growing older - because with more age comes actual responsibility (please don't think I actually have babies on the brain or are incubating), and that squashes the chances of seeing the world like a leaf blown through the wind. Instead of the idea of spending months abroad, with a Europass and a rucksack, there's the daunting horror that you only have 2-weeks paid vacation a year and that chumply amount is barely worth one country overseas (in my opinion; I'd rather travel one country in fervor, than sporadically jump around and barely see any city without depth).


So you can tell I'm hoarding my vacation days as there's Uncle Sam's sponsored 'vacation' for Mr. Wookie later this year and we don't know POM leave might be or what kind of trip we can make out of it. Part of me thinks that with the schedule that's slated for the squadron, the changes that have occurred, the increase in boat time, and the way the deployment date has yo-yo'd more than Kirstie Alley's weight (is it this month? or that month? or months from that original guestimated month?)...my inner event planner is having heart palpitations. I. want. to. know. Will we have the chance to go on a small vacay? Or will we receive notice like this last stint away? A text one afternoon saying, "Hey baby, I've leaving in a couple hours." Oh, okay, no worries. Glad I gave you a 'I'll miss you' hug this morning. Wait - not. Instead, I probably mentioned for the billionth time that you put a wet towel on the bed. again. and asked if you left me any coffee. Love you. Mean it.


Hopefully after this duty station, and this deployment, we can enjoy another round of leisure and frivolity. I'm dying to introduce Mr. Wookie to Scotland.


Please don't hate me because I don't have kids, throw my feminism around like a Italian talks with their hands, or am a Ginger. Actually, go on and judge the Ginger aspect. We're awesome and I can take it. I just can't take sunburns.