Last weekend, I was standing in line outside the Paradise Rock Club with my wife, brother-in-law, and sister-in-law. For the first time – possibly ever – I felt the totality of my thirty-one and a half years hit me like a ton of bricks. The temperature had dipped into the low thirties, and I was shivering in a light winter jacket and a beanie hat. Many of the girls in front of me were lacking coats, and some were wearing belly shirts and cropped jeans rolled high above their precariously heeled ankle boots. Their chatter grated on my nerves. I not-so-secretly pined for the warmth of a snowsuit. Looking at my family, I was relieved to see that we were all sharing the same thought: Please let this line move quickly!
Once inside, someone promptly vomited on the floor. Gazing around the venue, I yearned for chairs to cushion my now-aching back and wished the din of talking would cease while the headlining musician played. I had to laugh at myself: These mostly-college-aged kids weren’t doing anything college-aged kids haven’t been doing since the advent of the club circuit. I had, without really noticing the magnitude of the change, simply aged.
Some women talk about their thirties as a kind of revelation, and I would have to agree with that sentiment. I have a very clear idea of who I am and what I want, but I also know that both of those things are fluid. I have arrived at this place via years of painful lessons and regret. My high school days – and almost half my twenties – were spent in mortifying pursuits, far removed from my well adjusted peers, who were successfully attending college and enjoying chilly chatter outside teeming concert venues. I may not want those early twenty experiences anymore, but I robbed myself of them at the time.
A lot of my regret is driven by the commonly accepted perception of how one’s youth is “supposed” to look – what I “should” have done and how I “should” have acted. But I needed my mistakes, failures, and abysmal abnormalities to deliver me to the doorstep of my successes. I can confidently say that my thirties will not be plagued by “shoulds”. I already know that many of the things I value go against the grain…and I’m alright with that.
Not unlike one’s twenties, society has this idea of what constitutes success in one’s thirties. I don’t want the 2,500 sq ft house, the designer handbag, or the kids. I shunned the large and expensive wedding. I don’t even want the Master’s degree (instead, I would love to bring back the practice of apprenticeship). People say: “you could go back to school,” or “you’d be a great mom,” or “you could _____________”. I’m flattered, but that’s not who I am today.
Simplicity seems to be synonymous with mediocrity. I couldn’t disagree more. Just because I crave simplicity doesn’t mean I don’t strive for success. Rather than juggling more than I can handle (or just enough to make me miserable), I want to fulfill my carefully chosen responsibilities with dazzling efficiency. Furthermore, as far as I’m concerned, there is nothing mediocre about breathing room. There is nothing mediocre about spending a luxurious morning baking muffins from scratch and draping oneself – coffee in hand – over a sun warmed lawn chair. There is nothing mediocre about coming home at a reasonable time and enjoying the evening with your spouse. That, to me, is the quintessence of freedom. Time and choice are man’s most valuable currencies. Rather than pursuing material status symbols – and avoiding my own skin with an overbooked schedule – I want to spend those precious currencies checking off the items on my bucket list.
Autumn’s Bucket List:
- Finish writing a book (started!)
- Meet Stevie Nicks (it’s a long shot – but hey!) and never miss another tour as long as she lives.
- Move to Florida. Save half my income for our move (started!)
- Bake more
- Read more
- Audit philosophy classes
- Fix my broken foot so I can hike and complete a 5k
- Go back to NYC
- Visit England. See the moors.
- Cruise Florida in a classic muscle car .
- See the West Coast – San Francisco in particular
- Visit Zion National Park, the Grand Canyon, and Sedona (next year?!?!?!)
- Road trip the USA and blog about it. Take a picture on Route 66.
- Become an advocate for teaching police officers healthy coping skills. Lobby for changes to academy curriculum to include comprehensive courses on coping skills and building community bridges.
- Help open a dry bar and use the space to foster genuine human connection
- Photograph a temple in Bhutan
- Work entirely for myself
- Become a master of discipline
- Have at least 2 dogs in the family – but one will suffice.
- Finish tattooing sleeves on both arms… and then keep going.
- Take another looooooong vacation from social media.
- Finish our scrapbooks
- Visit Disney World at Christmas and eat all the treats and see all the lights.
- Procure an indoor, natural light studio for Human Too.
- Go back to attending the symphony
- See all the Cirque Du Soleil Shows
- Renew our wedding vows
- Become a life coach
- Help make a documentary
- Grow a little garden
- Spend the day with alpacas
- See the cherry blossoms in D.C. Visit all the museums.
- Also visit famous treasure/shipwreck museums. Go on a real buried treasure hunt.
- See a Mucha exhibit
- Drastically reduce or completely eliminate our consumption of single use plastic
That’s it – for now! In recent weeks, I’ve vicariously witnessed what it’s like to approach the late stages of life. I know that everyone inevitably has regrets, but I don’t want to look back and realize I lived someone else’s vision. The one thing every decade seems to have in common is the human drive to seek validation from outside things. I think an important part of my recovery has been slowly breaking free from that. I still get caught in the trap. Addiction magnifies the validation drive. While I still love certain external things – like tattoos and muscle cars (and don’t get me started on the Viva Terra catalog!) – it’s because I enjoy self-expression and the rumble of engines…not because I want someone to like me. The less time, energy, and money I spend on people pleasing – or some gossamer definition of prosperity – the more I invest in myself and my freedom.
Liberation from the conventional interpretation of success looks different for everyone. My “breaking free” will surely look different from yours. Perhaps your idea of “breaking free” is a return to so-called convention. There’s nothing wrong with that. What matters is acknowledging that you are worth the fulfillment of your vision – and the determination to stick to that recognition with unwavering commitment.
What’s on your bucket list? Write it. Chase it. Don’t let anyone (especially yourself) sway you with “should” or “could”. In the words of Fleetwood Mac: Go your own way.