Free Range MPA?

I woke up 2 hours before I technically hit 33. At 4 hours removed I could say that it feels like 32 but with a migraine and knee pain.

It got me thinking about all the ways I don't recognize myself. Yes, my upper arms wave when I do and my meaty forearm ends in cankle-like wrist before spitting out stubby hands with sausage fingers. Yes, I may have gained a chin. And, yes... I am still a mixture of appalled and sad when I see myself from the side in a mirror. I am still quick with a trivia answer as well as with sharp wit. Indulging in garbage pop music is still delightful. But fundamentally a few things have changed.

The Husband went out for a day with the nephews Monday. After picking me up from work we dropped his PIC off at his home and ended up at an intersection with a Farmer's Market. It took immense self control not to scream that we should go check it out. I am planning a trip to Portland with a friend and one of the things I am most hype about is going to a Farmer's Market. Not drinks. Not poutine made with french fries that have been fried to perfection in duck fat. Nope. The Farmer's Market. And not JUST the Farmer's Market, guys. My excitement over locally grown Maine produce and artisan shit has me wondering not which breweries to tour but how many reusable shopping bags to pack. I want to wander around Whole Foods and Common Crow or any other natural grocery store. The smell of small natural markets is the purest smell on Earth.

WHY AM I EXCITED ABOUT FREE RANGE MEAT AND LOCALLY GROWN PRODUCTS?

WHY AM I WEARING NATURAL DEODORANT?

WHY DO I SUDDENLY WANT TO THRIFT FOR DOZENS OF JARS?

But the horrors don’t end there.

I spend my free time watching vegan videos on YouTube. I watch videos on zero waste life styles. I signed a pledge to stop using single-use straws (which I think should still be made available for those who need them but like maybe we shift to the paper ones?). I question whether I should order coffee via mobile pick-up because it means I sacrifice bringing a reusable cup for convenience. When grocery shopping I lament buying soaps/detergents I could easily make at home and paper towels when I could use a washable option. If we have kids do I go the fabric diaper route? Or those rad ones that breakup in the toilet and are flush-able?

And don’t get me started on period products. The tax is enough to piss me off but all that waste?!?! Do I order washable pads? Do I switch to the cup?

The madness seems to be permanent. It grows every year. Is this adulting? No one warned me about this. No one told me I would slowly turn into a hippie. My go to when leaving or entering a room, letting a car go, being let through by another car, taking pictures, or apparently just existing is to throw up a peace sign. I think shaving is a stupid societal convention the patriarchy uses to make women feel less than. I can’t wash my hair daily if I want to keep the dye vibrant and it does not bother me at all. It is like as I age I go more rogue but the idea of it is almost comforting - as if aging gives me a free pass to live my crazy hippie dreams and everyone will just look at me and quietly say to each other “ahhh, she must be over 30” like it naturally explains my behavior.

I suppose it isn’t a bad place to be but it sure will take some time to get used to this me that wonders where on the North Shore I can buy shampoo and conditioner in mason jars I brought in, weighed empty, filled, weighed again, and bicker with the cashier before asking for the manager who I greet with a peace sign.