I had a dream last night that I won a trip to the moon. Rarely do I remember my dreams, but this one was extremely vivid, and I woke up able to recall nearly every detail, right down to someone stealing one of my golf clubs before I left. (Rarely do my dreams make any sense either.)
What a let down to wake up and realize I’m not going to the moon. I don’t even want to go to the moon, but I realize a trip through space is infinitely cooler than the 365 other things I’ve done this year.
In the dream, as we took off in a space ship that on the inside looked like my car but with airplane windows and roller coaster bucket seats, I felt all the same feelings that I’m feeling about turning 30: a little nervous, insanely reflective, extremely excited, and immensely grateful.
I’m officially in the home stretch of my twenties. And it is completely bittersweet moment for me, planning the last things I’ve never done before and getting ready for what I am hoping will be a week-long birthday celebration.
Lucky for me, and for my mother, who also having difficulty facing the end of Project 29 to 30, when I turn 30 a week from Monday, I will still have many days of adventures still left to tell you about. I joked with someone recently that I'll be writing about my 29th year until I'm 40.
Like it or not, though, the end of this adventure is near. But here's hoping that the dream about a trip to the moon means that a new one is just beginning.