Back Home Again in Indiana
Yesterday marked 7 years that I’ve been with Entercom turned Cumulus Indianapolis. Seven. YEARS. And I realize it’s typically the anniversaries that end in 5 or 0 that make us wax nostalgic, but this is my blog and if I want to get weird on year 7, I’ll get weird on year 7. Plus 7 years in the world is 70 years in radio so there’s your 0, you purists.
7 years ago Jesse and I rolled in from our freshly built 1600 square foot house in Joplin to our most decidedly not freshly built 763 square foot apartment in Noblesville and wondered what in the actual hell kind of mistake we had made. The question grew when my first morning commute took a solid 30 minutes and my evening commute a solid 45 (both involving the seventh circle of hell that is the northeast corner of 465) because when I mapped it before we signed the apartment lease I forgot rush hour traffic was a thing. But now here we are 7 years later in our built in 2002 feels like a mansion house (the second house we’ve bought here) and thanks to the pandemic, my commute is now a much more reasonable 27 seconds.
7 years ago it was just me and Jesse but now there’s a 4 ½ year old lunatic in the mix. At the time, kids seemed like such a distant thought and now no kids seems like such a distant thought (please note I’m not one of those moms who claims she can’t even remember life before she popped out a baby; I remember distinctly the levels of tired I was once upon a time not consistently operating at). We spent that childless time going to the same rotation of restaurants and free activities so nothing’s really changed on that front other than it now takes 3 years to get shoes on and in the car, and there’s a lot more crap that comes with us.
7 years ago Boogs didn’t exist and now he’s in real preschool. He’s only 9 days in and there’s already been a field trip and homework and sometime next month there’s a parent teacher night and isn’t it my mom who’s supposed to be going to those things?
7 years ago we could freely move about the world, not even fully understanding what the word “pandemic” meant. Now I’m wearing a mask everywhere I go, ordering everything I can online so I don’t have to go anywhere, and working out of my closet instead of an actual studio.
In the last 7 years I’ve watched Jesse get his Masters, paid cash for a car (thanks insurance!), developed a real affinity for iced coffee and patios, and discovered that cornbread really does go with chili. I’ve used my husband’s library card because I’m too lazy to get my own, watched my child throw his best friend (the “paci”) in the trash, walked a half marathon, run a 5k, and been in a car that got hit with a corn cob because Indiana.
These last 7 years have been exactly and nothing like I expected, as years tend to be. I realize that sentence leads you to believe I have a deep, insightful ending for this but I don’t. So instead I’ll just see myself out.