And so it's been said that "Life Begins at 40," and "The 40's are the new 30's," "The 20's are the New Zygotes," to infinity and beyond. But I've stumbled on a brand new phenomenon that puts all the other bullshit mantras to shame.
Ever since arriving into 4-OH! territory, the shift in my universe has been titanic. I'm talking increased enthusiasm, creativity, and energy. I'm talking the horniness of a sixteen year old boy. And my lifestyle habits? A pure 180. I eat Fruit Loops for dinner. Take pole dancing and salsa lessons for exercise. I'm juggling lunch dates, dinner dates, martini dates. Pulling all nighters, and nursing wicked hangovers in my office the next day. My girls and I text incessantly about the next hang-out or happy hour. It generally appears that I cannot sit the fuck down.
I'm acting like some wayward twenty year old, yes?
Precisely. Because I AM twenty years old. Twice.
Yes, goddamnit: Twenty-Twice. The new adult version of adolescence. Or as it pertains to me: Mommy Gone Rouge. Now that my spawn have been raised and deemed acceptable to participate in society, I've got freedom and no curfew. I roam around unsupervised; spending loads of time purposely accosting trouble. It's all pretty radical.
A decade ago, I'd be in bed with a book by 10pm.
Now the fact that a portion of my personality has been stunted since age 22, might play a small role. Right after college, I enrolled in an Accelerated Life Course called the One Fell Swoop Plan. Meaning, I dove head first into the trenches of husband, home, offspring, career and all its trappings before the rickety old age of 30.
Good times, they were. A wonderful and terrifying crash course. (My sanity was nearly totalled.)
So, suffice it to say I crammed in loads of grown up experience at warp speed. I've done the wife thing, the motherhood thing, the existential crisis thing; the divorce thing, the self-destructive thing, the nervous breakdown thing. The recovery, healing, and reinvention things.
Now I'm mastering in Advanced Life Studies and feeling pretty fearless. One could say I'm in a furious state of becoming. Only now I'm receiving lectures from my twenty-one year old son about responsibility, and the courtesy of making a simple call when I won't be home for dinner.
Hot child in the city.
Oh, and I'm not alone. My girls are experiencing it too.
"We're called 'The Regressives,' Amy Sohn explains. " With our children now school-aged, our marriages (now over), or entering their second decade.... we're behaving like a bunch of crazy twentysomething hipsters."
Especially now - since we have wisdom, confidence, and a bit of financial stability on our sides. Did I mention we look (and feel) better than we did in our 20's? We've evolved into intelligent, charismatic, ballsy bitches with senses of humor and lots of swag. No more school-girl insecurities. Most of our hang-ups have been smoothed out by experience, forgiveness, and self-acceptance. And really good therapists. We know the cornerstones of a healthy existence involves the gym, the spa, the winery, and ultrahot sex. And occasionally, some high quality cannibus.
We're hot. We're horny. We're here.
We're renaissance women. Who understand the importance of building financial portfolios, continuing our educations, and keeping a properly stocked slut bag. Boss chicks; who bump to Wiz and proclaim yolo in between business meetings, cocktailing, and corporate life.
Hell yeah, fuckin' right.
So this is where I chronicle my Twenty-Twice ruminations, challenges, and exploits (along with a few guest appearances.) And stay tuned ya'll, 'cause I'm totally benjamin buttoning this shit.
For the first glimpse of the Twenty-Twice saga, start here.
