single mom


I’m inclined to believe that society might have screwed me up.

This applies to many things, to be sure, but I’ve found that our youth (a group I’m rapidly outgrowing my membership of) have a very skewed perception of matters related to um, not being a youth. The dreaded G word.


Yuck, right? I know. Sigh. If I rewind 10 or 15 years, I thought 25 was old. Mature. Grownup. Probably a sweet age to be… and in many ways, I was right. I love being 25 and if I could, I might even try to stay 25 for 5 or 10 years because that’s about how long it takes for you to be ready to be older than 25, from what I can tell.

I was sure that 25 meant owning a sweet car, my own home, and having a kick ass job making loads and loads of money.

Thanks, society.

At 18, I graduated high school and went to university with that in my head. I had no flipping idea what I wanted to be when I grew up, and sometimes I still don’t. I went off to university, no more than a fetus, and I felt lost for six years until I decided to pursue my passion.

For the first time in my life, I leave work happy. I go to work happy. I am happy at work.

I love my job. My career. And I probably won’t stay on this path forever.

If I had known this simple truth a long time ago, I could have avoided a lot of stress and anxiety and disappointment. As my friends’ younger siblings, and our baby cousins and family friends’ kids graduate high school, I hope they all realize this:

 It’s OK if you don’t know what you want to be when you grow up. You’ll figure it out in your own time.

That’s life, society. It’s growing up as you go along.

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