My sweet 31

31 candles are only few hours away.

Being 31 means that I am completely out of the ‘roaring twenties’, but still too far away from the 40s.

At this age I should feel grown-up, adult, but my internal clock seems not to care, probably it didn’t notice I am no longer on the threshold of adolescence.

Many people at my age feel they need to draw up a list of achievements and failures. “Fine – I say – let’s put together an honest and sharp list”. “Am I happy of who I am?” I wonder while scribbling on a piece of paper, “Have I become the person I wanted to be?”

I look in the mirror focusing on my facial expressions. I see my reflection, while, like in a black and white film, I rewind the tape of my life.

From an outside perspective, one could say I’ve had a quite interesting life.

I graduated, I moved to the UK nearly 10 years ago during which I completed my studies, I worked for very well known companies and a few months ago I started my own Career Consulting firm.

I am independent, I have friends from all around the world with whom I am able to converse in multiple languages. My life is full of meetings, events and opportunities. I currently live in London, still one of the most vibrant cities in the world. Every day is a breakthrough, I don’t know boredom.

Despite everything, I feel I am moving from one goal to another, nonstop.

I keep on setting higher targets, which is utterly affecting my private life.

The result of my autonomy is a self-created protection barrier to keep myself safe from anything that is outside my territory. I live like a phoenix, despite my failures I learned how to get up on my own.

I no longer want to ask myself if I became the kind of woman I imagined when I was 10 years old
I no longer want to ask myself if I became the kind of woman I imagined when I was 10 years old

Yet, I do feel a social pressure, something that tells me that I am not complete.

As it weren’t enough, the ruthless (don’t shoot the messenger) Facebook, enjoys showing me my oldest friends in white dresses and wonderful pregnancy bellies next to pink and blue ribbons. Shining cars, amazing houses and soft Labradors.

In other words, I am a million miles from that routine and stability.

Sometimes I wonder if I am the only one in the world who has experienced it or if there are other girls – or should I say women – out there feeling the same way as I do.

Wondering if they also were expecting a future that has been already written – but not yet happened. And maybe, will never be.

I strive to picture myself in that kind of comfort zone, asking if that kind of life would really make me happy, if I could swap my reality with something else.

Still reflecting in the mirror, lost in my thoughts, I dig deeply and I find the response.

The answer is No.

My life, albeit imperfect, I want to keep it as it is.

Even though independence and sense of loneliness go hand in hand, my free time is never enough and I would love to have a dog (or a cat), I wouldn’t change a bit of the way I am living.

I no longer want to ask myself if I became the kind of woman I imagined when I was 10 years old. I want to be myself, with my 31 years to live and a whole life ahead of me.


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