Get a haircut…

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.


About aasaelsewhere

I like Saskatchewan fine, but am hitting the road soon anyway. First on the itinerary: Portugal, England, Ireland, then England again. I have Yellow Fever immunity, a pending visa, and a blank passport, and can't promise anything.
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5 Responses to Get a haircut…

  1. Heather says:

    I’m glad you’re happy. I’m also jealous. I’m going through major existential crisis stuff right now related to this subject.

    So, basically, enjoy your freedom and happiness with it.

    God, this is a depressing comment. I really mean it – I’m happy for you! Yay!

  2. Cheryl D. Banks says:

    I just got home from our holiday out to the Maritimes, and have caught up on your travels/stories. I thoroughly enjoy the spin you put on things–especially when such odd things occur, such as meeting a guy from AB who, by happenstance, had also met Andrea in Berlin. And, “does she have a sister named Beth”….

    About this particular blog. You are only 29, Aasa. Keep that essay handy, and read it when those rare times of second-guessing yourself occur. There are things you are learning that cannot be learned in any other way than you are doing it now, although perhaps you have sampled enough Guinness.

  3. aasaelsewhere says:

    Heather! I think you should come for a visit.

    Cheryl! Thanks so much! I am happy with what I’m doing, but sometimes it feels like 30 is some looming deadline by which time you’re supposed to have figured out certain things. I know it’s an arbitrary number and try not to let it bother me!

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