Perhaps it’s the lack of oxygen on airplanes that makes me feel extra emotional when I travel.

I’m Maui bound to see The Boyfriend. (Oh, that’s fun to say! BOYFRIEND.) I’m beyond thrilled and ecstatic to see him. There’s only so much ground you can cover in the hundred dozen phone calls and texts throughout the day. Eventually, you just need to see each other and feel that connection that words can’t give you.

The poor guy has gotten a play-by-play of my travel plans for the last few¬†hours including my flight plans, when I’m going to leave work, where I’m parking, when I’m on the shuttle, fuck I forgot my shoes, back to the parking garage, got my shoes, back to the airport, through security, on the plane and one last minute text before we take off. Maybe he’s not as patient as he is tolerable but that’s what’s wonderful¬†about him.

However, four and half hours into this near six hour flight, I’m beginning to feel nervous, anxious. What if all we’ve got going for us is a great phone relationship? What if with all this build up, we set our expectations too high? Worst of all, we’re so excited about sex (FINALLY), what if it’s lackluster?

I order a glass of red wine and a Mai Tai to calm my nerves. What? I’m on vacation.

It’s all going to be fine because I’ll be in Hawaii with a man I’ve pictured the (near) future with. It has to be fine.

What is not fine is the annoying child in the row in front of me. Thankfully, he’s at the window seat and I’m in the aisle but my heart breaks for the sweet girl in 23A.

This kid has touched her, anywhere he can reach, while she’s sleeping. He’s tried feeding her Pringles and demanded her Snickers bar. He’s let out a shrill scream more times than acceptable for a child his age and thrown more tantrums that I have in all my 31, almost 32 years.

But he is really to blame? He’s a child. No more than 4 years old. His parents don’t bat an eye at his outbursts nor do they seem to notice the disdain on their fellow travelers faces. Mine included.

How can anyone ‘Live Aloha’ with this shithead on-board?

 

My birthday is tomorrow. 32. It’s the third birthday without my mom and the first that I didn’t send my girl’s a birthday countdown. Am I growing up? Am I an adult now?

Growing up, mom would always say, “Rach! It’s your birthday! It’s YOUR day!” However, this birthday feels different. I’m not melancholy nor jittery with the idea of a party or presents. I’m very neutral as if it’s just another day.

My good friend, Natalie, reads my charts and gives me my horoscope on the reg. One night over wine and Sex and the City, she took my birth time and showed me where the planets were aligned that very moment I entered the world. According to that chart and her other readings, I officially (or cosmically), became an adult around 29 1/2 years old. Funny since mentioning ‘and a half’ after any age over 13 sounds extremely juvenile.

However, it made sense! At exactly 29 1/2 years old, my mom died suddenly from a brain aneurysm. Four months after that, my boyfriend broke up with me, going back to his Baby Mama, telling me he wanted to do it sooner but my mom had just died. Dick.

I’ve remained single those last 2 years focusing more on my move to a town where I knew no one (again) and jump starting a career in an industry I never envisioned for myself, a more attainable career than becoming an actress. Some dreams you just have to let go of.

My personal growth in the last two and a half years has been astounding. I’ve created my own blog (obvi), which if you’ve never put yourself out there creatively, it’s frightening AF. I’ve become so much closer with my step-dad. Actually drop the ‘step’. The man is my dad and has been for the last 20 years. And how grateful am I that my mom chose him to step in after she’s gone?

I’ve not become any more patient and still not on time for anything but I am my mother’s daughter. Some things just can’t be changed.

So now, I’m on my last hour of my flight, reflecting. Reflecting on the last 364 days, the last two and half years, the last 20 and as far back as I can remember.

I’m happy with where I’m going, literally and figuratively. I don’t owe anyone anything. I’m honest to a fault and where words fail me you can bet my facial expressions will give me away. I’m certainly not without flaws but if you can embrace them, are they even flaws anymore?

What can I say? I’m unapologetically ME.