Singles "Non-Wedding" Registry

I think people labor under the delusion that if you smile at them, make a wise decision, and actively pursue other areas of your life, then you must (of course) be doing "all right."

That's a crappy assumption.

Here's my deal, I'll shoot it to you straight.

I am a twenty-four year old, finishing a higher degree that 6 years ago I had no intention of ever earning. I'm looking for jobs I never wanted to hold, and I have a mortgage, a will, and a college-sized debt in my name. I have cultivated an aggressive, go-getter work ethic, because it's safe, and a sure-fire winner. I've learned about inter-office politics, and insurance billing codes. I own a power suit and have stilettos that could shatter any glass ceiling.

But that's not what I wanted.

I wanted a family, a husband, little squealing children. Mock the white picket fence all you want, it's my heaven. Ridicule SUVs, I've had mine picked out since age 21 (Cadillac Escalade, black. Thank you very much!). I was sitting in my first freshman class when I realized that I would rather be a soccer mom than a scientist, and I'd rather have finger paintings than research articles on my desk.

But I was also sitting in my first freshman class, when I realized that that might not happen. Part of my stomach curdled when I heard girls talking about men as though they were the ultimate ticket to happiness. I watched wonderful ladies marry sub-par men, simply so they could wave a diamond under the nose of their lab partner. And I decided that I would never be that. I would never be the girl who believed that her ultimate satisfaction lay in a man and a rock.

So I got my degree. And I really do love what I do, I love it passionately. I love it enough not to want to marry Joe Shmoe of the homeless shelter or Larry the Loser of Welfare. That being said, all I've still wanted to do was to get married, be a mom, and a wife, and pack excellent, balanced lunches for my husband and children (carrot stick, anyone?).

And I thought I was almost there.

I really, truly did.

I was dating an amazing guy. Truly amazing. He made me laugh, bought sweater vests on command, and could make grilled cheese and chocolate cake. I was finishing up classes, I was tying up lose ends, and I was debating registering for the red or black KitchenAid mixer. I had spent months studying the appropriate role of women, and countless hours realigning my views (cynical, stomach curdling me had taken over for a while and drowned out the picket fence), when it all fell through.

My plan. The future. It all went up in the air, and landed in one big fat mess.

Oh, it needed to happen. It wasn't a bad thing. In fact, it was a very good thing. I know it was a good thing because it happened, and nothing happens that isn't for my good and for God's glory. But all my dreams of my SUV, picket fence, and KitchenAid mixer disappeared.

Sitting on a couch, munching chocolate, and not watching a movie, several "career" friends and I were talking about our "freak-out year." The "freak-out year" would be the year in which, if not married, we just might have a royal break-down, and sprinkle salty tears over a yummy cake.

Their "freak-out year" is one year away from my current age. Snap.

My freak-out year is still hovering out, closer to thirty (it's moved steadily, with each year), but today, I found myself saying, "Well, you know, I could take that job, at least until I get married, you know, around 29... or 30...." And then I made myself stop.

I don't want to every cry over a yummy chocolate birthday cake, and I don't know that I will ever get married. So I'm going to stop. As of right now, I have no "freak-out" year. I've banned it. I refuse to think that "I'm not really living until I've gotten my mixer and SUV." Gosh, dang it, if it comes down to that, I'll buy them myself.

So yes, I smile. I made a wise decision. I changed my plans. And some nights that just sucks. So, no, tonight I'm not "doing all right." Everything isn't peachy. Every thing's a little crappy.

But tomorrow I'll break out my stilettos and eBay-hunt for a kitchen mixer, so I'm sure I'll be just fine...