30 Before 30: Setting the goals, knockin' em down

Now, my mother is no slouch, and the prospect of turning into her doesn’t necessarily terrify me. It’s just that I thought I would be much further along, somehow. Thirty was the future — twenty is possibility and potential, but thirty is stability and achievement. Even though I have months left to go, I can’t help but feel that there’s so much I haven’t done. I can’t be thirty! I haven’t gone skinny dipping in the moonlight, saddled a horse or driven five drunken friends around Mexico!

Faced with the prospect of being three decades old and far too proper for my own good, I made a list of things I need to accomplish before next February. Some are things I should do (learn to swim), some are things I need to do (finish the novel) and nearly all are things I’ve never done. None are as monumental as skydiving or wife-swapping (it’s more of a thimble list than a bucket list), but it has still proved interesting — and a handy excuse for trying new things. This first entry is comprised of firsts, for instance:

1. Take a vacation somewhere I’ve never been.

This was the best Christmas present ever, because I got it four months after winter: my boyfriend took us to Florida. I had never been there before, and in the interest of palm trees, seasonal-affective disorder and The List, we were off for a whole week. I could have sub-listed a few other firsts, such as “hide the fact that you’re drunk in front of your BF-in-laws,” “eat without recording calories” and “spend 20 hours in a car with someone without killing him,” because: check. I should get a special sticker or something. It was also the first time I'd seen a space shuttle launch, which was pretty epic. (Click here for the Twitter play-by-play)

Florida was also a venue for one of the scary entries. Every third item or so, there’s an “oh, right, base jumping” -type entry that I am more than happy to put off. Such as:

2. Attempt a sport you’ve never tried.

I’m not sure if bodysurfing can be considered a sport by any sort of definition, other than the standard “physical activities Sarah is not good at.” My boyfriend was unaware that swimming itself was still on the list and doubtless would have stopped me if he had — but, not wanting to look craven, I walked intrepidly into the ocean wondering if I had chosen the right beneficiary.

Let me just say: the ocean is salty. As I have not mastered the art of plugging my nose without physically grasping it, all the ocean was my neti pot. And with the sand rushing over me on the shore — at some 45 miles an hour — it was like a visit to some sadomasochistic spa. After my third near-drowning, I took the small comfort of being able to tick a box in exchange for having seen Jesus so many times.

As if that weren’t enough excitement…

3. Try a new food.

“Want some fried gator?”
“I wasn’t aware people ate alligator.”
“Do it.”
“I don’t know--”
“Do it for the LIST!”
“CHOMP!”

It tastes like chicken. So you know.

Twenty-seven to go!

Sarah Smallwood is a freelance writer living and working in Ann Arbor. She is currently rewriting her first novel, keeps a daily blog at The Other Shoe and hosts a podcast at Stuff with Things. She can be reached at heybeedoo at gmail dot com.