I feel like I’ve been neglecting this blog a bit. I think this is, at least partly, because I’ve lost some of the initial excitement I had for it (us millennial do have short attentions spans, you know) and partly because I’ve been busy lately trying to overcome my quarterlife crisis instead of just writing about it. By that I mean I’ve been keeping busy with lots of different trips and getting everything ready for the move back to Oklahoma in a few short weeks. I’ve also been selfish and just been lazy when I feel like being lazy.

But the laziness is usually alone at night after work. On the weekends I’ve been out of town. A lot. Recently I’ve been away from home almost every weekend. There’s been trips to Los Angeles; Omaha, Neb.; Des Moines, Iowa; New York City and Kansas City, Mo. A trip to Phoenix is planned for next month. Most have been for pleasure but a few are related to work.

And because of all that I’m about to type words I never before thought I’d say: I’m a little tired of traveling. Just for the moment though.

Being away every weekend has meant little time to recharge my batteries, and I’m someone who really needs her down time or else I turn into a mean zombie. This became especially apparent when I was in New York City last weekend for the wedding of a dear high school friend. All I could think about during the trip was how exhausted I was and what I would give to just be at home in my apartment sitting on the couch. Maneuvering around the city and listening to friends recount stories about life in the Big Apple just made me more ready for a nap.

Don’t get me wrong. The wedding was absolutely beautiful and tons of fun. I loved my time at it. Walking down Park Avenue and strolling through Central Park also put a smile on my face. But I also found myself with far less tolerance to deal with the other things that make New York City what it is: the congestion of public transportation, the mounds of trash, the honking of horns and the gross smells.

At the same time, as I was walking down a street in Harlem thinking about how I couldn’t wait to get home — my home of three more weeks — I thought about how, as an almost 28 year old, I’m supposed to be in awe of New York City life.

I grew up watching “Sex and the City” like every other girl my age, and the one thing I took away from it was that a life in New York City is what every smart, ambitious girl in her 20s should strive for. But as I finished my weekend in New York City, I became more convinced that I’m either really uncool (probable) or getting older and realizing that what society deems to be exciting and adventurous isn’t always what it’s cracked up to be.

I’ll put it another way: I bought a Cosmo magazine for the airplane ride home and in the back they had a quiz titled “Are you the boring friend?”

I think you can probably guess how this turned out. While I’m not exactly dull, I do show some signs of being set in my ways and the wallflower who sits back and observes instead of leading the wild adventures. But you know what? I think that’s OK. I think I’ve earned my time to be a little boring. I’m tired. I’d much rather stay in and watch a movie on a Friday night than head out to a loud bar and socialize with people I barely or don’t know at all. Maybe that makes me boring, but I also think it just means I’m more content with the person I am. Oh, and according to this Buzzfeed list, it also just means I’m close to turning 30.

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