In my twenties, I didn’t worry about 30. What was there to worry about really? I was on track. By 24, I landed a job in my dream company, I was living in my dream apartment and for the first time in my life I was making friends effortlessly. I was fabulous and anything that wasn’t so good about me, I had the money to fix it. I was living the dream.
All that changed a few months to 30. I started asking questions and wanting more. My 9-5 job (more like 9 to whenever-the-universe-decided-to-let-me-go-home) became a nightmare, not because it was any less awesome than the first day I started, but because my definition of awesome changed. A great job should not be one that pays you the most money but one that you get the most pleasure out of. I hated my job, resented the beautiful city I lived in because somehow, it had made me complacent. I was stuck and for years, I didn’t even realize it.
It took me a while to catch up to my heart but when I did, I realized it wanted change, craved adventure and was hoping I had the guts to move forward. So I did.
A few weeks ago, I quit my perfect job. A few days ago I moved out of my great apartment and said good bye to my amazing friends and traveled halfway across the world to a place that spoke a different language literally and figuratively. Paris!
I’m sitting in a box – excuse me, I meant to say apartment – in a crowded part of Paris, with no friends, no job and limited money but for the first time in my life I feel truly happy and at peace. I’m starting over, completely.
For the next 365 days I hope to learn the art of adventure, the dance of the free-spirits and the science of a world without stress. I’m not trying to find myself, I’m already somewhat aware of who I am, I am however trying to define myself in a way that brings me eternal peace.
I know most of my friends and family think I have gone crazy, maybe there is some truth to that, but without a little crazy, life is boring.
So yesterday was officially my re-birthday.
Joyeux anniversaire à moi!