For my friends and I in our late twenties, the approach to the big 3-0 seems to have us in a wistful mood. However, on paper, I should be happy and content. Great husband? Check. Well-respected job (lawyer)? Check. Decent income for my age and experience? Check. Good health (and health insurance)? Check. So what's my problem? Here are some possibilities:
1. Job. Don't get me wrong. I like my job most times. The supervising attorney I deal with on a regular basis is great, I enjoy 75% of my workload (bankruptcy), and the environment is fairly informal, which is nice for a t-shirt and jeans kind of girl like me. However, my other supervising attorney and the other 25% of my workload create such chest-tightening pressure, anger and fear that it can be overwhelming. Without boring you with the details (or breaching my ethical responsibilities), suffice it to say that even the best attorney cannot help those clients who will not help themselves. Yet those same clients want amazing results, like getting money from 85 year old widows with no tangible assets and whose only income is Social Security. *facepalm*
2. Lack of "meaningful" hobbies. When I'm not working, I can be found on my couch, laptop in lap (as I am at this very minute), working out, visiting with friends or family, shopping, petting my cat, or watching TV or movies. That's 99% of my life. It's pretty nice, but I "feel" I should do more. I have this grand vision of *gasp* reading again, being civically active, learning to play the guitar I got for Christmas, taking voice lessons, so on and so forth. I'm sure I could make more time for these things, but what I do already seems to take up all my time. Do I really want to do these things, or am I compelled to do them simply to round out the image I've created in my mind of what I should be?
3. Kids (or lack thereof). I absolutely love kids and kids absolutely love me. I've always been around lots of kids. My brother is seven years my junior, so I had my own living, breathing baby doll as a second and third grader. I've always had a valid excuse to not have kids (underage, in school, single, learning a new profession, living in apartment, etc.), so I've never really felt the need to do so. However, these excuses no longer apply, so my brain has shifted into mommy-mode, and it terrifies me. I'm risk adverse (hence the name of the blog), so the thought of actually having a child, being responsible for its every need, forming the basis of what will become its personality- it's all too much to comprehend. Women around me seem to do it just fine, but the sheer uncertainty spurs a mild panic attack in me. Yet whenever I see a baby, my voice involuntarily raises two octaves and IWANTONERIGHTNOW. Biology vs. mind. Not a fun fight.
The media tells me that these are common concerns of women my age, so I know I'm not alone, which is reassuring. Now time to figure them out.
I did a lot of driving today (Pikeville and back) and a lot of thinking, hence the cathartic inaugural post. I promise they won't all be so heavy. Fart jokes will come.