I’ve been thinking a TON lately about choices. Last week, I lamented to my friend G about how throughout my life, I’ve been so adamant and insistent about “choosing my own path” and about doing things my way (rather than the way my parents wanted): from not studying biology/premed to not becoming a doctor to changing careers to not having kids… I made all these decisions with confidence, declaring that “I know myself best.” Yet decades later, am I any happier than say, Mr. Joe Schmoe who followed a straightforward path, didn’t overthink or ask questions, took a job/career (maybe a mindnumbing one), and just stayed locked in? I guess I’ve been feeling sorry for myself: after all this constant hustle, making atypical choices regarding my career and beyond, in the end, I’m still dissatisfied with life. WTF?!?

Don’t get me wrong: I’m not regretting the kid thing, but shit, if I’m going to be an eternal malcontent, why even bother putting so much thought into everything? In some way, I acknowledge that my parents are paying a price for my choices. I’m well aware that my decision to be child-free has contributed to their unhappiness. So on top of having that on my conscience, I can’t even say that I’m living a happy, fulfilled life. I dunno. Maybe I’m just feeling fatigued, and life is beating me down. The good news? I still have some perspective. I know I live a blessed life, and no matter what, I have a lot to be thankful for. 

John and I are celebrating 19 years together. Not to sound all Nicholas Sparks or whatever, but hands down, he’s THE best decision of my life– worth every bit of the defiance and fam drama and even our own ups and downs. That said, fuck man, I made my best call when I was 20 years old???? I sure as hell hope there are plenty more “best decisions” coming outta me in my elderly years.