…said a 31-year-old woman. It’s odd, isn’t it? When I look at teenagers, I am thinking that I’m twice as old as they are. Honestly, looking at them, I don’t want to be them. I feel some kind of superiority. I’m a grown woman, I can do whatever I want. I’m not responsible to anyone. Almost. Kind of. I am financially more free in my choices. I own stuff. And so on. I enjoy the adult life, in which I can choose how I spend my time. My career. My hobbies. Yet, I don’t want to grow up completely. I want to forever be a young adult, with all the possibilities open. Having spent a weekend visiting friends with children, it seems that having a child is exactly the thing that would take this freedom away from me.
If you have a child, you cannot come home at 8pm. You cannot have all these hobbies. No, not the both of you. Someone has to make sacrifices. Someone needs to be at home. I consider myself pretty self-centred. How could I then give up everything and just be at home, taking care of another human being? Incomprehensible. My ego is not ready for that blow. Will it ever be ready? I know that I can only have a child (not even talking about them in plural, let’s start with one) if this becomes one of my projects (a long-term one). If I dive into it with the same enthusiasm that I currently use elsewhere. Like when I’m about to transform my career completely and start an IT course. I cannot do it without enthusiasm. I cannot do it when it feels like a chore. So, I’m not doing it. Not yet. The world has so many other things to offer.
1. Own and live in a house.
Went visiting friends and talked about having a house. Talked about our careers as well. Did nothing else. A Sunday after all!
2. Write AND publish a book.
Did I read? Did I write? No, don’t think so. Fail.
3. Win a major race.
One week after the marathon, I spent yet another 45 minutes jogging. My body feels quite recovered already, bring the spring races on!