Life at Thirty-Seven

I can't remember the last time I spent the whole day reading and finishing a book of my own choosing for pure enjoyment. After switching my major to English, it seems like all I've been doing is required reading. Granted, some of the books I'm required to read I've liked, but it's not the same as choosing a book that I'm genuinely interested in and reading it for simply the sake of reading.

While in school, I have a tendency to buy books that I want to read, yet I leave them unread on my bedside bookshelf. Over time the books accumulate and now that it's summer, they stare at me accusingly.

Since I'll be heading to Paris in about a month and a half, I decided to start with Paris My Sweet by Amy Thomas. In this book, Amy Thomas, a complete francophile and chocolate addict, describes her life as she leaves New York for a job offer in Paris.

This book definitely made me hungry as I followed Amy on her quest for the best sweets in Paris and New York, but it also left me evaluating my own life. Yes, she has a successful writing career and lives in one of the best cities of the world, but she's also thirty-seven, single, and facing infertility.

Without a satisfying resolution at the end of the book, I couldn't help but wonder about my life at thirty-seven.

What would become of me then? Would I be alive? Would I think back on my thirty-seven years and say to myself, "Wow, I've really lived." Or would I regret the time that I wasted?

What's more important? A career or love? Why I think about this stuff at 12:04 a.m., I have no idea. I'm just so worried about the future, confused about the present, and at a loss of words about the past. I can't really make up my mind about what I want out of life. My adventurous side just wants to travel, experience, meet people, write, and wander around in unfamiliar territories. On the other hand my romantic side wants to spend my life with someone, brave the world, and be in love. Are the two lives compatible? I'm not sure. Maybe. Who knows?