On December 12, 2010, I turned twenty-five. I was officially older than Madonna was at the release of her first album, older than Elizabeth Taylor was at the time of her second divorce, and older than Mary Tyler Moore was the day that she stood on that street corner in Minneapolis and threw her hat into the air. It wasn’t the fact that turning twenty-five made me feel old that caught me off guard about this milestone, it was the fact that I didn’t feel old at all. It was the fact that last week, when my seven year-old niece turned on an episode of Berenstain Bears, I disappointedly reported that I had “already seen this one.” It was knowing that sleeping every night with my Teddy Beddy Bear security blanket and purple sparkly retainers, I didn’t even have the hopes of a first divorce on the horizon, let alone a second. It was understanding that with a monotone speaking voice and virtual tone deafness, I wasn’t on my way to a superstar recording career, but falling short of that, it was being twenty-five and feeling like I wasn’t on my way to much of anything at all. It was looking up at the sky and realizing that I didn’t have a hat in the air.

So rather than panic about my shortcomings, I did what any other sound-minded individual would. About a month prior to my June 12th half birthday which will mark my downward slope to age twenty-six, I walked into work and quit my job. Then I told my roommates that I was moving out of our apartment in Los Angeles and decided that I would drive around the country for a month before moving to Nashville, a city that I’ve been to a grand total of one time. Then I packed up my Babysitter’s Club books, forwarded my Netflix subscription to my parents, and laughed when I started this blog and the layout that I had been assigned was recommended for “professional journalists.” As a professional of zip, I instead decided to check out the layout called “toolbox” as it seemed like a title more appropriate for someone in my position.

As I prepare to leave for my direction-less journey of my American homeland, all I can say is that I’m excited. I can also say that I understand with increased clarity how people get mixed up with “crazy” and that there is a fine line separating a bald, umbrella-wielding Britney Spears and me… a very fine line. I plan to visit all the great American treasures – The Grand Canyon, the Appalachian mountains, the house from Roseanne. And I plan to delve into our American history – Dealey Plaza, the Civil Rights Museum, McDonald’s store # 1. As if those aren’t enough, there will also be plenty of other exciting stops along the way. I invite you all to come on this journey with me – something that I’m sure I will find comforting when I’m on my 3,561st mile of driving alone and belting out “Love Can Build a Bridge” for the 987th time. Like any great detective, I have no idea what I’m looking for out there, but for whatever reason, I feel like I will find it.

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