My dearest Would Be,
It’s finally here. The big 3O. Years ago, in Dubai, my friend Jen and I were sitting in a parking lot (our equivalent to a park) having a serious conversation about life. Jen said that 30 was the IT year, the year that really determined whether your life was going to soar, or stagnate by the pre determination of birth.
So here I am, 3 months till the big 30, reviewing the status of my life. Of course optimistic, non cranky people will say, count your blessings, your accomplishments, your happiness and memories.
Cranky me says this, I long accepted that the love of my life thing would not work out. As my mum put it yesterday it’s like you’ve already gone through four divorces without any freaking alimony. So I settled on attainable dreams. Like going to Rio on my 30th birthday. I have a job for the dollars, I have Travelocity for getting there and physical shelter, I have the lonely planet for advice on where to go, what to wear, what to eat. Yet I can’t go. Because Would Be, no matter how self sufficient you are….you are always dependent on others to make your dreams come true. Sure I could in theory go to Rio by myself, but really which douche travels to a country by themselves on their big birthday? Especially a girl?
Where are my friends you ask? Good Question? Where are those people obligated to support my dreams and hopes? Where’s the unconditional love?
It doesn’t exist Would be. At 30, people have lives, commitments, plans, that don’t include you. You must fend for yourself.
I am cranky Would-be. And thus all blogs to follow will be about this new found mid life crises.
I will whine, I will cry, I will beat this topic to death.
Because after all, it’s my party and I’ll cry if I freakin want to.
Ps. I am convinced you're dead. Waiting for you is like waiting for Godot....