About a week ago, I was summoned by mail to renew my driver's license. My birthday is coming up in April and I’ve had my current license since June 2009, the month after I got married and changed my name. I remember when I received my new license with my new (albeit a little bit crazy) last name, I noticed the expiration date in 2019. That year seemed so far away.
Now here we are, in the “so far away” future. Instead of a newlywed with fresh highlights and a pedicure, I’m now a mom of three wearing Lulu’s and a messy bun, with a few forehead wrinkles trying to poke through and a decade of wisdom that I’m incredibly grateful for. I’m a little more humble, a little less dramatic and a lot more in love with Jesus. And actually, I do currently have fresh highlights, I just get them way less often.
I read through all the details about documents I’d need to bring to renew my license in person. I wanted to be thorough and not be turned away, so I pulled out all kinds of things- a tax form, my voters registration, my social security card, and a few other things. I grabbed my passport too because I reasoned that I’d probably need to update my passport too.
Nope, it didn’t need renewing until next January.
I shoved it back into its safe spot and headed out the door.
By the way, to renew your drivers license in person, all you need is your current (expiring) license. The lady didn’t even want to see my collection of documents, even though I asked her. And you also can’t renew your passport at the DMV. :)
As I sat in the DMV waiting for my number to flash up on that little screen, I thought about that passport that I shoved back into the folder of important documents. It’s never been stamped.
Not even once.
My first passport had at least 30 stamps covering the pages. I got it when I was twenty years old and retired it during that same summer of 2009 when I changed my last name and renewed my driver's license. It traveled all over the globe with me collecting stamps. Some from visiting countries multiple times. Others from entering and re-entering countries during my study abroad summer in London. Still more from my time as an American Airlines employee, when it was a normal hobby of mine to head up to the airport on a Friday after work and jump on a plane with an empty seat for a weekend away.
“Oh, an empty seat going to Bermuda? Sure, let’s go”
My first passport saw all kinds of adventures. It was held up by multiple customs’ employees to compare it to the person, me, standing in front of them. I employed all kinds of protection techniques during some of my “less safe” travel excursions. The make-up bag was a good spot. And so was the fanny pack thing you wore under your clothes. Once, my brother and I checked into a hostel in Venice, Italy and the front desk wanted to keep our passports. I’d never heard of the practice and I felt like it was shady, so we immediately checked out and walked around until we found another place to stay for the night...it was equally shady but not requiring us to hand over our passports. Pretty sure I slept with it on my person that night.
My second passport has been nowhere. There was that one time that we crossed the border into Canada when we lived in upstate New York to spend a weekend at Niagara Falls, but the toll booth guy didn’t have a stamper. And he was seriously annoyed that I was asking for a stamp.
I know I'm not the only one that feels a sense of pride from a stamped up passport. A passport filled with stamps can be such a source of excitement and evidence of adventure. An empty one feels strangely a bit shameful to me.
Before I’d even heard of the Enneagram and before social media even existed, I had a goal to step foot on all seven continents before I turned 30. I also wanted to speak 3 languages fluently. Enneagram 7’s want to try everything. Experience it all. Taste everything. Like a good enneagram 7, this was my motto in life before marriage and kids, and honestly, it still is. I can see how it exhausts my husband, but there’s such a yearning inside, and it is not in any way driven by Instagram comparison or Facebook likes. Thirty has come and gone, and I didn’t reach either of those goals, but that doesn’t stop me from thinking they could be “lifetime” goals.
However, instead of hanging my head in shame over the empty pages of my second passport, I see them as a reminder of the living sacrifice that my life has been over the past ten years. I’ve literally poured out myself, physically, emotionally, mentally and travel-wise. I’ve forgotten all of my Spanish. I’ve temporarily refrained from dreaming about worldwide adventures. And I don’t have a regret in the world. Because I’ve been busy doing something greater than collecting stamps. Instead of filling photo albums with adventures, I've been filling baby books with memories. (ok, I did good with the first baby book).
I’ve been growing babies inside. Nursing them into toddler hood. Introducing new foods and encouraging healthy eating. Teaching them to speak their first language. Exploring our city on local adventures. Collecting souvenirs from our neighborhood playground. Creating masterpieces with magic markers and rubber stamps at our kitchen table.
My kids see our world right here with the same eyes that I used to see the far corners of the world. Their eyes are seeing things for the first time right here, without the need to hop on a plane and trek across the world. And we’re slooooooowly starting to speak Spanish again in our home now that my 4-year old has taken up an interest in learning...ON HER OWN VOLITION. #mychild #alexahowdoyousay...
So I have lots of hopes for my third passport. I hope that it’s filled with stamps just like my first one. And I hope that it’s wedged into that “important documents” folder right next to four others. Because we’re entering a new phase of life. And while sacrifice of self is always a reality in motherhood, it’s much different now that nobody needs to grow inside of me anymore and that, for the most part, everyone sleeps all night long. Here’s to new adventures, near and far. The ones that require a passport holder neck pouch (the actual term), and the ones in our own neighborhoods. The ones by car, by train and by air. The ones with meltdowns and driving through the night. The ones with Instagrammable photos and the ones where you have to make due because you forgot to pack a hairbrush.
¡Vámonos de aventura amigos!
*All photos in this post were taken before iPhones existed :)