TW: Excessive navel-gazing and vulnerability. Perhaps the most vulnerable I’ve been on the blog so far. Proceed with caution and kindness.
If, however, you relate to today’s title in any way, perhaps my words will help you carve out a slice of solace in the madness. Perhaps.
So, I turn 30 this month. I’ll forgo the self-pitying monologue on how life didn’t turn out as expected — not because I want to spare you of it; trust me, there’s plenty of self-pitying to come — because well, while my life hasn’t turned out as expected, it's been in the best way possible.
If you’ve been following along for a while, you’ll know my trajectory has been anything but ‘conventional’: a degree that took 7 years to complete, a life built across continents. And I’m now fast approaching yet another milestone that I won’t quite be completing ‘on time’: getting married.
Of course, if I were to paint a shiny little veneer to gloss over the truth, over my truth, I could simply tell you that thirty is an arbitrary number, walled in by arbitrary milestones, and that no person or society should have the power to dictate the most personal of our choices. That we craft our own timelines, and so on.
But saying all that would be disingenuous, and I’d hope this blog is anything but.
Because in reality, I do feel ‘behind’ right now. Very behind. Lately, entering the realm of Instagram — for me, an eclectic mix of friends who, despite being from disparate parts of the world, seem to be leading uncannily similar lives — I’m presented with little else but engagement announcements, carousels of the latest wedding bash, and baby photos. So many baby photos.
Pair all of this with that imminent 30th birthday and you have me wondering: am I supposed to be doing all of this now, too?
Should I be married by now?
At first glance, I guess it’s pretty obvious why I’m this little singleton, swimming amidst a sea of couples: my itinerant, often unpredictable lifestyle.
Of late, travel has dominated my life choices so heavily that, as soon as I’ve returned from a trip, I’ll pretty much immediately be asked my next destination by friends, friends curious and hopeful to continue living vicariously through my nomadic life. And they’re right in asking; I can’t seem to sit still for long these days.
But, as with any lifestyle choice, there will be downsides. So, while a life of back-to-back trips, of working from sunny shores and misty mountains, of novel experiences and new faces, is exciting, there is one harsh truth underscoring it all:
When you’re on the road, building meaningful connections is the easy part. What’s hard is letting them go when you move on to the inevitable next destination, the next adventure.
Those of us who travel frequently — especially those who do so alone — are bound to meet life-changing people, make wonderful friends, sometimes even fall in love. Because when you travel, you allow your world to collide with people you never expected to come across in a more regular, routine-led life. Naturally. Life is always more colourful outside of that cosy comfort zone.
But I have a problem. I have a tendency to get deeply attached to people, to places. And fast. If that weren’t enough, I take a long time to let go, too. Not a winning personality trait for any traveller out there. So, no matter where I am or who I’m with, there is always someone else or someplace else I’m missing, deeply. Someone you love is always a complicated visa application or 15-hour flight away.
Accepting the ephemerality of the connections you forge along your journey never gets easier. In fact, for me, it gets harder, because my tireless mind starts preparing itself for the goodbyes from day one.
And then there’s the people who won’t dare venture into committed relationships with me, claiming they’re scared of my nomadic nature and the upheaval, unpredictability it would bring to our shared life. Which I understand.
It scares me, too, sometimes.
But even if we extract my lifestyle from the equation, even if it doesn’t successfully scare someone off, my conspicuously single state often has me wondering: am I just not good enough for all of this, then?
Am I not pretty enough, smart enough, kind enough, talented enough, to enjoy what everyone else seems to be enjoying?
This is an emotion I’ve struggled with a fair amount over the past few years. Whether it’s bad luck, bad timing, bad matches (or, sigh, all of the above), I’ve ended up in equations that seem to be meaningful, only to find out that all I do is fall for those who ‘weren’t ready’ to commit all along. It’s a deeply painful experience to go through, especially repeatedly.
But if there’s one thing that muddling through this emotion is teaching me, it’s that whether or not my confidence is at an all-time low, I do need to start prioritising myself. I need to get better at highly valuing myself and my time.
Just a few weeks ago, I watched someone who claimed they ‘couldn’t commit’ to me happily, firmly, and publicly do so with someone else. While watching this was a shock, it was also the final straw. A wake-up call to the game I’d been playing, unwittingly. A game which, ultimately, I lost.
And this finally woke me up to the truth I’d conveniently, quietly, ignored for far too long:
Life is just too short to continuously, tirelessly, keep choosing people who may never want to choose you. To chase people who may never want to be caught. To commit your whole heart, soul, time, to someone, without ever knowing if you’ll feel the same unconditional love in return.
So, lately, I often find myself, well, choosing myself.
I am no longer willing to tolerate pseudo-relationships, to tolerate being a ‘maybe’. I’m not ‘maybe’ material — no one is. I’m not someone you take for granted — no one should be.
We all deserve people who will fight to keep us in their life.
We deserve someone who is excited about us, who is excited about the joy we bring to their life, openly. No hiding, no smoke and mirrors, no games. Just clear, pure, obvious love.
In the end, I guess that’s what all this comes down to. Not wanting to rush. Not wanting to give in until I find that someone who can truly value me and what I bring to the table.
If my unwillingness to compromise on this may leave my life a little less fulfilled than it ‘should’ be right now, I’m okay to live with that. I’m okay with not settling.
Not settling, just to ‘be settled’.
The debate over milestones and ages is overdone, overwrought with trite aphorisms. We often overdo it in either direction, the balance never quite right. So much of the time, we simply run around acting as if there exists, somewhere out there, a simple panacea for something so personal.
Of course, there isn’t one. So much of life’s beauty lies in how differently we each choose to live it.
I mean, I may have spent the past three decades — what is it about the word ‘decade’ that makes everything sound so dramatic? — plodding around the planet, but I’ve only just started to figure out who I am (a writer) and what I love (travel, writing, photography, time with my father). And I haven’t even scratched the surface of what I can do with my myriad passions.
So, for now, my energy is to be conserved for me, for pursuits and people that mean the world to me. The rest? Well, while I hope it comes along eventually, I’m not in a rush.
Will I ever meet the ‘right’ person? Will there ever be a ‘right’ time?
Guess I’ll have to keep on living and see what happens. :)
Until next time,
S
Tell me: Do you feel similar pressures to ‘settle down’?
PS: Maybe, one day, I’ll come back here to update you on how things panned out for me. Stay tuned!
Cover image captured above the hills of Darjeeling, India.