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I love my life, right now. I’m having fun. I’ve got oodles of options before me and I like not knowing what I’ll be doing three months, six months, a year from now. But sometimes – very rarely, but sometimes – I find myself going “What the HELL are you DOING? You’re almost 29 for crying out loud get a REAL JOB”. I hate those moments.
From now on, when I feel that way, I’m going to refer to this essay:
Growing Up: An Essay from The Immature Traveler
I don’t think there’s anything wrong with wanting a stable job and a family and all those things, and being happy when you have it. I just, occasionally, need to be reminded that it’s also okay to not have that. Phhhew.
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