Back when I was a kid, I remember when I would daydream of what my future would end up being like, and I’d ask myself questions such as… Where will I settle at when I grow up? What will I do for a living? How will I meet my husband, what will he be like, and how many kids will we have? You know, big deal things like that which seemed light years away from the possibility of happening. With so many unknowns, it was kind of exciting wondering how the answers would unfold.

My teenage years came and went, then my twenties, and by the end of those I still only knew the answer to one question—what would I do for a living. Graphic design. With one down, and many more to go, it still seemed like I had plenty more time to figure things out—after all, what was the rush, right? Then the first half of my thirties came, and they threw me a major curve ball with the passing of my Mom when I was 33—and suddenly anything I was taking any steps towards figuring out took me even more steps backwards—it took several years to get myself back on track after such an unimaginable loss.

(Insert three years of pain, ups and downs, major life changes and a few bad decisions here)

Now, on the verge of 37, I feel just as uncertain as I did when I was a kid, and the possibilities of what would be seem to be further from my reach than they’ve ever been. Sure, I have grown to be older and wiser—I’ve been through some serious shit and know that I am a stronger and (I believe to be) a smarter human being having gotten through tough times. But when I see people that are 15 years younger than me that are “adulting” in ways that I’m still not, and I’m nearly the last of my friends and family to be in any sort of relationship, that seriously makes me question some shit. Even though I know I am still young-ish, it still feels like time is ticking away and that if I don’t figure it out now, then maybe I never will.

These days when I dream of my future, I ask myself questions that are much different than the ones I asked way back when… Will I ever get married? Are married people even happy? Do I even want kids—did I ever realllly want them in the first place? Are my eggs even fertile anymore? Will the one I loved the most come back into my life to profess his undying love upon getting a divorce, or will my high school crush magically become single so I can finally have a shot with him? If I don’t meet the right guy by age forty, should I just give in and become a lesbian? 

As we grow older and as we change, so do the things that we want. And while what I thought my life would be at this age and what it has actually come to be thus far are on opposite ends of life’s spectrum, I am actually doing okay. Bitter? Um, yeah, a little, (okay, a lot)—but I’m still okay.

Sometimes I do get sad when I see my nephews running around the house playing, knowing that they may not have little cousins from me to grow up with; when I see couples starting lives together, feeling left out of what real love is supposed to be and feel like; and knowing that if I ever do get married and have kids, that my Mom won’t be here to share those moments with me. Those things do pull on my heart strings, but that doesn’t mean that life is over. I have to get over the fact that I still don’t have things figured out, and that there isn’t a rule that says “You must have things figured out by 37 or else you will live a miserable life and die alone,” (that would suck) so I shouldn’t let myself believe that to be true.

It doesn’t mean that I am miserable, it doesn’t mean that I am happy, it just means that it is what it is and life will keep unfolding and revealing answers as time goes on—I just need to find patience and have faith that it will all work out for the best. I’ve lived, loved and lost a lot, and while I still may not have found exactly what it is that I am looking for, or even be clear on what those things are anymore, I sure as hell will never stop trying to find them.

Song of the Blog:
Clocks by Coldplay | circa 2002