I’ve been trying to figure out the difference between teenage Maggie and grown-up Maggie for a while now. There are the obvious answers, but I honestly believe I look better now than I did then. Pre-pregnancy, I weighed less than I did at 16, my skin is finally smooth, and, with the help of a stylist that knows what she’s doing and a whim that got me there, I have a haircut and color that compliments my face nicely. Life is going more in my favor now than in high school days. It’s not that.
It’s deeper.
The summer between my sophomore and junior year of high school, we went to Alabama to celebrate my uncle’s wedding. While there, my cousins had the biggest house party I had ever seen. It was epic. It was straight out of Dazed and Confused, had the movie been set in the 90s. There had to have been at least 250 people in their house, all of whom were beautiful, dressed impeccably, and so nice to me! As one expects when your life is playing out like a movie, I ended up in the backyard with one of my cousin’s handsome friends who explained how life was like a coin before kissing me a drunken “eh, why not” kiss that sent me swooning for the rest of the summer. Once people finally left, us stragglers went to Waffle House where I experienced my first smothered hash browns at sunrise.
When I finally went to sleep that night (and many nights after), all I could think was “how do I make this last forever?” I looked upon that night as being the perfect start to a new part of my life. How could I be cool enough to have these parties (or at least be invited to these parties) when I got back home? How do I learn to use philosophical phrases about life and inanimate objects that make me sound smart vs. nerdy? How do I keep this going?
(P.S. The one house party I attended here in Milwaukee did NOT play out the same way. Everyone was younger than me, so I felt like the grandma. When they did beer chugging races, no one asked me to participate. Worse yet, I think I probably would have said no anyway…)
(P.P.S. I would be lying if I didn’t admit that I choose a college in the south at least subconsciously because I would be surrounded by people speaking with that beautiful southern drawl. At least a couple of them would have to have the right words to say, too, right?)
Enter now.
Life is epic. Every part of it. I have a gorgeous house that is finally coming together. There are a whole slew of great friends I can turn to in times of need, high- and low-brow entertainment, education and fun. My dog is reasonably healthy and polite. The world is my oyster when it comes to professional endeavors. All signs point to a perfectly healthy baby arriving into my world and into a nursery that is pretty much ready for her. My husband is the most amazing man I could possibly want (who puts up with my philosophical talk now that I’ve finally learned that skill.)
But when I wake up in the morning and watch him sleep, “this is perfect” is fleeting. Instead I immediately jump to the “what ifs”. What if Eggroll has some big disease? What if Randy gets into a car accident? What if Noah runs away with the new poodle next door? What if I never sleep again? What if? What if? What it?
At 16, I had the time to daydream about the future and lay it out as I saw fit. Now that I know what could happen, I grasp so tight at the Right Now, I run the risk of missing the moment for its beauty.
I could blame September 11th.
Or my dad’s accident.
You see, in the spring of 2001, I remember walking through campus on my way to the class. It was a gorgeous, warm spring day, my roommate and I were finally back on good terms, there must have been a dude in the picture (gawd, Maggie…why did your happiness always come back to having a dude in the picture?!), and it was probably chicken finger day at the GMP. I remember the exact place where I was when I thought “god damn, life is good. Savor this and hope it will be like this forever.”
Six months later, I was standing on that exact spot when my dad and I finally connected via cellphone on 9/11. I had already spoken to mom, but she had to keep her shit together since she was talking to me in front of her classroom of 5th graders. My dad, not so much. A girl doesn’t do well when the world is being attacked AND her dad is crying. Life wasn’t so good anymore.
Speaking of dad… You don’t have to be a psychologist to appreciate that the sudden way my dad died is going to play out how I live my life. I don’t let myself think about my own death often. It’s too heavy a topic that is guaranteed to send me into an anxiety spiral. But after watching what his sudden departure did to my mom, I can’t help but have a pang of sadness when I bump into Randy in the middle of the night. The first thought is “oh, now I’m safe”. The second (and much louder) thought is “but some day I won’t be.”
I don’t really know what my thesis is for this post, making it hard to write a conclusion paragraph. Instead, I’ll let the words of a good man from Indiana speak for me.
