@re-joyce 16 November 2025

When I was a kid, I thought I’d be married by twenty-six. My career, steady and shining by twenty-eight. Two kids by thirty. A big house with a farm. Maybe I’d travel the world. Egypt, Italy, Germany, and Greece, the ones I imagined standing in front of in postcards and history books. I thought life was simple like that. Like how after one school year, you just move to the next. One step after another. Easy. Predictable. No one told me that growing up doesn’t come with clear directions, that sometimes the next step isn’t forward, it’s sideways, backward, or nowhere at all. Now, I’m almost thirty. And honestly, I don’t even know where to begin explaining my life. It’s not bad, it’s just not what I thought it would be. Some days, it feels like I’ve lived a dozen half-finished stories, and none of them feel finished. I’m still recovering from a heartache. I just quit my job. And I’m walking a new path I’m not even sure I’ll love. No kids, but I have few cats. They follow me around the house like shadows with tiny paws, purring softly as they weave between my legs. My younger sister’s getting married. It freaks me out a little, but I’m happy for her too. It’s not that I’m against marriage. It’s just… I can’t picture myself in it, not yet. The idea of vows and forever feels too heavy for the version of me that’s still learning who I am. Some days, I don’t even know what to eat later. I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering what the hell I’m doing with my life. The walls feel quiet, and I scroll through my phone until the sounds and lights and life beyond my window fade into nothing. The plan I made when I was six has become a funny story I tell myself sometimes. It makes me laugh. Other times, it breaks me. And sometimes, I just cry, for no reason at all, or maybe because it’s all just too heavy inside. When I look around, it feels like everyone else has their lives figured out. Like they’re walking straight lines while I keep tracing circles. And I ask myself, Where did I go wrong? Did I get lost? Am I still lost? If I could go back, if I were six again, would I live my life the same way? Or would I start over and do it differently? I don’t have an answer. Not yet. Maybe I never will. But maybe you don’t either. And if that’s the case, then this one’s for you too.