What makes a thirty-something truly happy?
A career, no children, but a house to buy, and if possible, a lot of traveling because you are participating in the wanderlust. And when everyone is sitting in Cape Town for a month in January, you find yourself scratching your head a bit too hard at home. I just said it in the car to my boyfriend: how nice would it be if we had four weeks off in January? We just go away, to Cape Town or Bali. A whole month. I actually never dare to be away longer than two weeks. I'm always afraid they'll suddenly realize they don't need me if I go for two weeks plus.
My best friend said she can say no much better since she has her sons. They are just the most important (obviously). Then life can really pull some crazy tricks on you, but she doesn't give in to it. I don't have sons, so it's a bit different for me. I love working and I equally enjoy celebrating my days off and vacations with loved ones. If possible, I do both with just as much dedication. But does that make you happy? Is there something that makes today's thirty-something satisfied?
It was Friday evening. We were tinkering at the editorial office around six, putting together a Gin Mule, making a snack board from the weekly leftovers, and toasting with the neighbors. I was home around eight, tossed some pasta in the pan, dove onto the couch next to my boyfriend, and by nine we were asleep. When I woke up at half past eleven, I checked Instagram. My brother-in-law and sister-in-law are traveling through Europe by bus, I saw someone boarding a plane, a huge award was won at work, and during that time I was napping under my cow blanket. It really makes you think.
Have I suddenly caught the thirty-something dilemma? That you can choose so much that you no longer know what? I'm a bit afraid of missing out on things. That little restaurant where the spaghetti is divine out of a cheese, sleeping outdoors, cruising along the coast in Italy in a farmer green classic car, but sometimes I also think I want things that I don't really want. Skydiving, for example.
It's Saturday morning around ten, I'm having a healthy juice at a nice lunchroom (and I just had a warm Tony's caramel-sea salt chocolate). I'm finishing up some things that have been left over this week and wondering if I should maybe write a book. Whether I a) can actually do it, or b) have the discipline for it, and why I c) would want to. In the meantime, I'm sending an email to a realtor because the expiration date of our rental house is approaching and we really need to think about a house with a mortgage now. Not too high by the way, it should remain fun because (see above) we also want to travel.
Many women in their thirties think that children are the ultimate solution. While I've heard you sleep much worse because of it. Other women spend twenty years trying to find balance in life. The rest goes on a retreat in Marrakech. And I really want it all too (minus the children). Because why do one thing when everything is possible? I think this is the problem of being thirty-something. I'll let you know what it becomes.
