Times Tables

I've got London on the brain in a major way. This whole idea of moving abroad, just like before, is intoxicating to me. It makes me feel adventurous and glamorous and smart. And honestly, it gives me an option that feels like it might well fit right now. 


I've posted before about the difference between what a girl expects her life to look like at a certain age and what it actually ends up looking like. I, for example, had hoped Joe and I would be engaged by our two-year anniversary, married by three years, and having a baby when we're both 30, four years into our relationship. In my head that was the natural progression of things, not because we are ready to get married (we're not) or because we actually want a baby that soon (I'm not sure we do), but because that's just how things go. My parents did it that way (or at least similar to that way). But honestly, neither of us is ready to be in the place I thought we'd be right now. My more recent revelation is that that's okay with me.


Lately I've started to feel pressure due to my prescribed time table that is entirely self-inflicted. I've been anxious because there are so many things I still want to do with Joe before we have children, but I read articles about getting pregnant after the age of 30 and they completely panic me. A few months ago I was talking to two of my girlfriends, one married, one not. The other non-married person and I were talking about how long we want to be with our boyfriends until we want to get married and we were both somewhat taken aback when the married friend asked, "But why are you counting?" We were both stunned. What did she mean? She explained that she didn't understand the tradition of celebrating month and year anniversaries before marriage or tying certain events or stages in the relationship to a number of months or years. It made sense. If I didn't think that Joe and I *should* be ready for marriage at two years, would I actually think we are ready? No. So what the hell am I doing to myself?

I still want to see so much of the world. I still want to do something adventurous. I'm such a worry-wort, scaredy-cat, planner-organizer that I don't really give myself the opportunity to be spontaneous. London is one of the most expensive cities in the world to live in. Literally. That scares me. And it's probably not the most responsible thing to do in these tough economic times. Neither, honestly, is going back to school and incurring school-loan debt. But there are things in life that are more valuable than money. I have to decide if I'm going to live up to the subtitle of this blog or not.