The 10 Year Game

It’s Monday morning, and as I write this, I’m overlooking the Indian Ocean from my balcony at the Salt Rock Hotel. So, I apologize that I’m a little late with this week’s post…but can you blame me? The weather has been gorgeous – okay, it’s a little windy today (hence me sitting with my laptop instead of on the beach) – but it’s still beautiful. The waves, the sand, the sky...life is good.

I had a birthday this past week. Twenty-eight. Not really a milestone birthday – a ‘zero’ birthday as a friend calls it – but for some reason, I find myself even more reflective than usual. It’s not that the big 2-8 is all that meaningful; no, I’m sure this has more to do with the fact that my 28th year brought some rather big changes. So here I am, starting out on my 29th year of life (which always confuses me because it seems like it should be the start of my 28th year, but it’s not – it’s my 29th – as if I wasn’t stressed enough!) and I can’t help but step back and consider where I am and who I’ve become (I bet you’re scared already).

Me looking particularly reflective!

Today as I evaluate my life – with the waves crashing fifty yards away and the sky blue and my husband’s adoring gaze still fresh in my mind – I feel pretty good about the choices I’ve made, about the person I’ve become. More than pretty good – I feel great. But I would be lying if I said I felt like that all the time – anyone would, I suppose.

When I was in college, we used to play the 10 Year Game. Sometimes it would be the 5 Year Game, but in either case, the game required you to create a story about where you might be in ten years (or five, respectively). Of all my friends, Laura was by far the best at this game; her visions were imaginative and detailed and always entertaining. We could sit for hours, weaving stories about our future selves. My favorite of Laura’s involved her married to a Jamaican doctor (with fabulous dreadlocks, of course), living in a hut on a Jamaican beach where she would wear flowy white skirts and put on plays starring the poor school children in her village. My visions weren’t quite so creative. They usually involved me writing at a magazine or working for a book publisher, living in a big city, and funnily enough, perpetually single. Ironic huh? It wasn’t that I didn’t hope to find my romantic happily ever, it just didn’t seem very likely at the time. But then came Roger – when I was least expecting it. And finding Mr. Wonderful definitely threw a wrench into my plan of becoming the new Carrie Bradshaw. How could I be a bitter single girl when I had stumbled into such a loving, healthy relationship?

Our vision of what our lives will be like is constantly changing. And it’s entertaining to look back at what you once expected, what you once hoped for, and see how much you’ve changed. Playing the 10 year game with Laura over pints at our favorite pub in Leeds, never once did I imagine that I would be sitting on an African beach with my English/South African/American husband revealing my innermost thoughts on the internet for the whole world to see (okay, all five of you).

I’m certainly not where I thought I would be, and if I’m being honest, I’m not exactly who I thought I’d be. I had hoped by the age of twenty-eight that I’d be a little more successful, a bit more assertive, less self-conscious, more decisive, more comfortable in my own skin. But I’m a work in progress, and that’s okay. I may not be where or who I thought I’d be, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Sometimes, the surprises are the best part. Because of all the things I could have predicted about my life, I never could have imagined that I would find someone like Roger. And as much as I second guess myself and perpetually question my decisions, the one thing I’ve never questioned is my decision to be with him. The rest is up for grabs, but my marriage – that decision was a good one.

So, things don’t always turn out like you plan. Sometimes they turn out better. One of my oldest and dearest friends went to her ten year high school reunion last weekend, and as instructed, she called me on Sunday to report all the gory details. Of course I was dying to hear about her ex-boyfriend. Was he there? How did he look? What was his wife like? Did she talk to him? Was it weird? Stephanie was generous with the details. Yes, he was there, but no she didn’t really talk to him. As for how he looked – well, thanks to myspace I had a pretty good idea, but apparently the haircut we had already made fun of online was even better in person. As we talked, we came to one conclusion – and I know it’s kinda cliché – but ‘Thank God for unanswered prayers’ (and not just because of the bad haircut).

You can’t predict the future, and yet we keep trying. No matter how far off our predictions may be, we’ll continue to sneak peeks into the crystal ball in the hopes that just maybe we can get a glimpse.

So…what the hell?

If I were to play the 10 Year Game today, I might say that in ten years I will be living near a beach (in America); Roger and I will have two kids (so my mom better be nearby to take care of them); I will be working as a writer, and everyone I love will live within ten miles of me and my disgustingly happy family.

So, pick a town, and let’s get this plan in motion. Ten years may seem like a long time, but if the next ten years go by as fast as the last ten – we could be neighbors before you know it.

(P.S. As for Laura, I think she’s grown out of her fascination with dreadlocks and the only thing she wears to Venice Beach is a bikini and a wetsuit.)