I was restless in my thirties in this city; watching my chance to have a family pass me by led me to believe I needed a bigger playing field for both dating and jobs.
Now that I’ve accepted I won’t be having kids, and my relationship desires have been pared down to happy companionship, and my pleasures in general have become much simpler, I could be quite content here. It was an adjustment at first, but I’ve settled in.
And now I have to leave.
I think I can be happy in my new spot as well; it’s just a strange feeling to move without much in the way of ambition propelling me.
The holidays are intensifying my sense of melancholy about this. My friends are having downtime with their families, while I’m gearing up for another solo journey.
Bad timing, but hopefully by the spring the emotional dust will be settled.