It’s Tricky

Posted on | November 2, 2017 | No Comments

Way back in the early 2000’s, when I lived care-free in Orlando, Florida, I worked in a burrito restaurant. I lived in a dirty little apartment with my roommate and a dog, and life consisted of dancing, drinking, and going to work then repeating the cycle again and again.

Most of the time, I am sublimely happy with my life here in Georgia. I love my boys, I love my husband, and most days I can even find something to love about the challenging job I do from 8-5. But on some days,  I drop the boys off at their respective schools and an old Run DMC song comes on my Spotify playlist. Like magic I’m transported to a little bar in Orlando, belly up to the bar with my roommate while the same song blares through the speakers.

“It’s a sign,” she says with a pleading smile. “Don’t go to work!”

We banter back and forth, sipping margaritas and staring longingly at the pool table.

“Seriously, it’s a sign,” she says again.

And I believe her. So I call in to work, and we stay at the bar and drink margaritas and laugh and shoot a game or seven of pool with some guys we know from around town. I think we stayed all day, just goofing off, enjoying the outdoor patio and the sunshine, tasting the sour-sweet margaritas and being young.

That day stays with me. The pout of my roommate as she begged me to skip work, the sound of the song in the amplified speakers, the crack and slide of the pool balls across a felt table. I can taste the margaritas, feel the sun on my face as I lean backwards with a smile.

Today, “It’s Tricky” came on as I pulled out of daycare. The thought occurred to me that those days are long gone… the days when I could just “call in” to work and drink margaritas. The days when I was young enough to spend a day in a bar with friends. The days when I could lean back in a chair on an outdoor patio and smile without wrinkles, without worries, without wondering if maybe I’ve had too much to drink or where the boys are or what time the baby sitter has to be home.

Most days, I’m sublimely happy with my life.

But on some days, like today, I want to call my husband and beg him to play hooky. To belly up to a warm, Florida day. To drink in sunshine alongside margaritas.

And to laugh, as though no one in the world has any cares at all. Least of all me.

As the last notes of Run DMC played loudly in my car speakers, I pulled into work with a sigh. It’s not a sign. Not today.

But maybe one day, it will be.

Until then, I’ll keep longing for those days when nothing else mattered save being young.  And happy.


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