If you’ve stumbled onto this page and have read my rants, you may be wondering why I would call myself “Miss-placed.” So, as a chance to offer a proper introduction I’d like to get to the bottom of that right away.
Last summer, right before I decided to start this blog, I was chatting online with my friend Matt. Matt and I are the type of friends that don’t know each other very well, but apparently it is well enough to spill our deepest darkest secrets to each other in the wee hours of the morning, shielded by the safety of the keyboards and computer screens that separate us.
During one of these conversations the topic inevitably led to my single-dom and how my life is so far from what I ever dreamed it would be. In my early twenties I had it all figured out: by this time in my life I would be married to the love-of-my-life, have three kids (pre-named, of course!) and my dream job teaching elementary school. Flash forward ten years. The reality of my life? I have never moved out of my parents’ house, therefore sharing a three-bedroom ranch with my 50-something parents and two sisters. Luckily, I still have my own bedroom. I chip in for bills, do my own food shopping, cook for the family, buy household necessities, and so on. BUT, I still live with my parents. Honestly, this doesn’t bother me as much as it might bother others because deep down I know that I don’t want to live alone. And given that pesky single status I really don’t have any other options.
Okay, so not married, no home of my own, where does that bring us to? Kids! Oh yes, kids. How I always wanted to be a mother! My womb was built to bear children. Sometimes I swear that I can hear it crying a lonesome song, longing to nurture a fetus at least once. Three children would have been great, although secretly I always hoped for five or more. The names were all picked out, nursery decorations chosen and fake baby registries made. But the babies never came. People tell me all the time that I can have kids on my own, I don’t need a man, blah, blah, blah. And sure, I suppose that is true. But it just isn’t the ideal way that I’d always imagined. Not only did I always want to be a mother, but I wanted to have a family: mom, dad and kids to follow. So now, in place of the kids born of my flesh I get to develop unhealthy affections for any of my 60 plus students and can only hope that one day I will be blessed with a child as wonderful as my little darlings are.
After confessing all of this to Matt and droning on and on about it until he probably wanted to slit his wrists, or at the very least schedule a vasectomy for first thing in the morning, I came to a realization. I was born at the wrong time. I don’t mean that I was born three weeks late, or should have been a winter baby instead of a summer baby, but that I was off by years, decades. I have so much to offer but it just doesn’t seem to be in the cards for me. I missed my chance. Some cosmic, or possibly karmic twist has led me to be born into a life that I may never really live in a totally satisfying and fulfilling way. Maybe I should have been born in time so that I could have lived my prime adult years in the roaring twenties. I would have been able to embrace the single life by frequenting dark jazz bars, smoking long, slender cigarettes and playing the part of a flapper. Or maybe it was the 1950’s where I truly belonged. The war had ended and I could have been solely responsible for starting the baby boom. And then again, if I was living out my life during the seventies I probably wouldn’t have cared either way, as it would have been all about the peace and love, baby.
Matt and I pondered this for a while and discovered that we shared a certain fondness for the decades that passed us by. My favorite movies are those set in the first half of the 20th century. I love learning about society and ways of life during any and all time periods. If I was granted one super power, it would be time travel, without a doubt. It was then that I realized I truly did belong somewhere else, and I coined my new name…Miss-placed.
Last summer, right before I decided to start this blog, I was chatting online with my friend Matt. Matt and I are the type of friends that don’t know each other very well, but apparently it is well enough to spill our deepest darkest secrets to each other in the wee hours of the morning, shielded by the safety of the keyboards and computer screens that separate us.
During one of these conversations the topic inevitably led to my single-dom and how my life is so far from what I ever dreamed it would be. In my early twenties I had it all figured out: by this time in my life I would be married to the love-of-my-life, have three kids (pre-named, of course!) and my dream job teaching elementary school. Flash forward ten years. The reality of my life? I have never moved out of my parents’ house, therefore sharing a three-bedroom ranch with my 50-something parents and two sisters. Luckily, I still have my own bedroom. I chip in for bills, do my own food shopping, cook for the family, buy household necessities, and so on. BUT, I still live with my parents. Honestly, this doesn’t bother me as much as it might bother others because deep down I know that I don’t want to live alone. And given that pesky single status I really don’t have any other options.
Okay, so not married, no home of my own, where does that bring us to? Kids! Oh yes, kids. How I always wanted to be a mother! My womb was built to bear children. Sometimes I swear that I can hear it crying a lonesome song, longing to nurture a fetus at least once. Three children would have been great, although secretly I always hoped for five or more. The names were all picked out, nursery decorations chosen and fake baby registries made. But the babies never came. People tell me all the time that I can have kids on my own, I don’t need a man, blah, blah, blah. And sure, I suppose that is true. But it just isn’t the ideal way that I’d always imagined. Not only did I always want to be a mother, but I wanted to have a family: mom, dad and kids to follow. So now, in place of the kids born of my flesh I get to develop unhealthy affections for any of my 60 plus students and can only hope that one day I will be blessed with a child as wonderful as my little darlings are.
Matt and I pondered this for a while and discovered that we shared a certain fondness for the decades that passed us by. My favorite movies are those set in the first half of the 20th century. I love learning about society and ways of life during any and all time periods. If I was granted one super power, it would be time travel, without a doubt. It was then that I realized I truly did belong somewhere else, and I coined my new name…Miss-placed.
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