So last Sunday, my daddy and his siblings threw my paternal grandma a surprise 80th birthday party. Most of my cousins that I grew up with, but hadn’t seen in years were there. We had a ball laughing, cracking on our parents tryna dance, and catching up on life. I found out about 2 hours into the party that I’m the only cousin in my generation who’s not either married, dating, or has children. *cue melodramatic overture* Well there’s one other (who wasn’t there, but that’s a whole ‘nother story), but she’s kinda weird and yeah. . .not so sure I wanna be lumped in with her, LOL!
Truth is I think I’d feel better about the whole thing if I was involved in a career that kept me entirely too busy to seek out love, marriage, children, and all that jazz. Unhappy professional life + Unfulfilled personal life = Unsettlling feeling in the pit of my stomach that makes me feel worthless. Twenty-seven years on this Earth and yet, I feel like I have no accomplished anything of great note.
And I don’t mean this post, to get all ‘woe is me’ or anything, just making observations is all. I’d always hoped at this time in my life that I’d be in a career I loved, with a man I loved, making babies that I’d love more than anything I’ve ever loved. But I’m not. I keep telling people I’m okay with that. But I’m not.
Okay, duty calls. . .