Boy was I wrong.
From here I am the icon of conventional. Married for 25 years. 2 kids. 2 dogs. I drive a station wagon. I'm a stay at home mom which in previous generations was known as a housewife. I live in jeans. I bake a lot. My middle has embraced the obligatory middle aged spread I was so sure I'd never succumb to. I knit and I'm even president of a PTA. At this point I'm actually both laughing and cringing while I write this.
And yet, I don't completely fit in that by the numbers box. I got my nose pierced and my first tattoo somewhat recently. Not everyone donates a kidney or publishes books or wears outlandish vintage coats every day. I've lived in NYC for more than half my life, mostly in the west village. I've never stopped working, whether on big or small projects.
The reality I'm settling into is
what is convention? Why put judgmental labels on what is? We all follow and break rules in our own ways. Every person on this planet has their their own path no matter how different or similar it is to everyone else's.
Perhaps the secret is not judging myself based on what other people do. It's cherishing both the mundane and the amazing.