marking time

by rantywoman

 They say that every seven years we change.  I’m not sure if I believe it, but I often examine my life through that prism.

Certainly 28-35 would have been a good time to start a family, and when that didn’t happen, at 35, I started searching around for what to do next. 

I moved across country at 37 and do think I accomplished quite a bit.  I burnished my resume professionally and learned the history of a new locale.  I took seven or eight trips around my new state.  Mostly due to online dating, I went on first dates with dozens of men.   A few of those developed into more dates and one into a three-month relationship.  I had a non-relationship that dragged on for a year.  I made at least one close friend and became enamored with a local creative scene.

Now here I am, at 42.  Another seven-year mark.  What’s next?  My current career feels played out, and the field no longer inspires me.  My close friend has moved away.  I can’t think of anywhere new to travel locally, and the thought of returning to destinations alone feels pointless.  I can imagine meeting a romantic partner randomly but can’t imagine where I would go or what I could do to meet one purposely.  I have given up on trying to figure out where I could fit in socially with the creative scene that had so captured my imagination.  In sum, I can’t figure out a way to summon fresh enthusiasm for my current situation.  I feel both at loose ends and dead ends. 

 Although my previous years here were filled with dramatic ups and downs, not much has actually happened this year (to me, certainly I’ve seen my peers move forward) outside of thinking about what I want to do next.  It certainly feels transitional, I will say that.