Missing the Boat

When I was a teenager there was a boy my mom really liked who lived just a couple of houses away. Let’s just call him “Bob.” Bob was a perfectly nice guy (I think he is now a police officer), but I just didn’t have any particular attraction to him. Every time my mom talked about him to my girlfriend and me, she would say something like, “Well, I just think you girls are missing the boat by not going after Bob.” That was all we needed to start saying things like “There’s the boat we’re missing” when we saw him–and soon between us he was just known as “The Boat.” It wasn’t very nice, but show me a teenage girl who’s nice all the time and I’ll show you…well, a very unusual teenage girl.

So now I’m worrying about missing other boats. I had a dream two nights ago that I was reading a book at the airport and when I looked up it was 10 pm and my plane to Brazil had left at 9 pm. I ran around the airport frantically trying to find the gate and realized I had really missed the plane. I woke up extremely agitated. I spent 10 minutes telling myself out lout I hadn’t missed a plane, I WOULDN’T miss a plane because I am so fixated on getting places early, and that I was OK. I’m not Freud, but it didn’t take me long to locate the source of my anxiety. I am afraid I am going to keep working and working and look up and life will have passed me by–and it will be too late. So my one and only new year’s resolution is to take advantage of every opportunity that is offered to me (minor qualification–every opportunity that I actually WANT, as opposed to some of those that will build character!)

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s