It’s three weeks until my birthday. Literally, it’s 3 weeks. March 16, I’ll be 32. I think I am not really taking it well.

Turning 25, well, it was no big deal. Mom (who turned 50 that year) took it alot harder than I did – it’s like she said she was officially old. And I guess it really hit her that I was the same age as she was when I was born. (She was 25 when I was born – and now I was 25 too.) At the time, I just thought – lord woman, you’re crazy. I couldn’t imagine having been married for 5 years, being pregnant on my 25th birthday, and then having a kid a week later. Times have changed since my mom grew up (obviously) as that was more the norm – married and kids before you were 30.

Thing is that my 30th birthday didn’t bother me too much either. At 30, I was packing up, selling my house, and basically hedging my bets on a move to Europe with my job. I was way too busy to stop and think “God… I’m 30!!”. To me, I felt very young, I was anticipating the new experiences that the move would bring, and yet dreading leaving my friends (and my “new” boyfriend) behind. Sure, I wasn’t where I thought I would be – had you asked me at 27 where I was going to be – I surely would have said married – but sometimes, things don’t work out as you’d planned and you make alternate plans.

Anyhow, fast forward 2 years from 30. I’ll be 32. I’m in Germany, and Berlin is fun, amazing, and all it’s cracked up to be. It’s been a wild ride. I’ve made new friends, had a ton of crazy experiences, travelled a bit more (checked several things off my bucket list), and even learned some German in the process. I would say I’ve grown up a little more – gathered some wisdom – and learned more tolerance. And, now I’m taking stock and not sure what I want to do.

Literally, the world is my oyster. I am thinking of a new job, and checking out wanted ads to see if there’s anything that catches my eye in Europe or in the US. I’m considering moving – whether it’s into Berlin or somewhere else, I don’t know. I desperately want to travel – but money is an object, so wherever I go, I need to make sure there is enough to be self supporting when I’m done. I’m restless – my gypsy feet are itching – and yet – I’m undecided – waiting for … SOMETHING. Only, I don’t know what that something is. I’ll know it when I see it but… yeah in the meantime, I’m looking… undecided… and this, I suppose would be termed “mid-life indecisiveness”. Joy.