Thirty five, still alive

Yup, I turned 35 a few days ago... and now it's time to start the next part of my life. It's is a significant age for me. For most, it's 30, but my 30th birthday didn't phase me in the slightest. That was largely because of a friend's advice, who told me when I worried to her -- in my late 20s -- about what I would do with the rest of my life, that she didn't plan on worrying about that until she was 35. So I've happily spent the last eight years or so since then doing what I've been doing, without worrying too much about the future. I'll worry about that when I'm 35, I told myself.

 

That's not to say that I'm worried now, or going to start worrying. But I am taking some pretty significant steps. Only one day after my 35th birthday, the negotiations ended and we made an agreement. Tomorrow I should sign on the dotted line...! I've only thought twice about it once or twice.

 

And that's about all to report since the last time I wrote here. My birthday was great, there just so happened to be, the night before, a reunion of a friends' band (THE AMOKS) from a few years back, so all of our friends were there and word that it was my birthday got out. I got a few gifts... a book, some good coffee and tea, and polka dots... and at midnight, a cold kiss from the mouth of Menno, who arrived just in time. And then we ended up at the Heartbreak Hotel (the unfortunate nickname we've come to use for the house that Leandro and I are subletting until the end of March) for an afterparty with a handful of friends and a crate of beer.

 

The following night, the night of my birthday, I was treated to drinks and dinner, and it was great... until midnight. The birthday was over, and reality struck. It all seems like a bit of an illusion now... it's as if I had a really nice dream. You wake up, and it's over.

 

And now it's time to move on. At 35, I'm moving on in life... I'm not sure what I'm going to do, and I'm not too worried about it. My friend only said "when she's 35" she'd decide what to do with the rest of her life. That means I've got another 360 days or so to figure it out.

 

Winter in Amsterdam

It's been far too long since I've written here. It's time to start again. It's winter in Amsterdam, and it's much nicer to be inside than out. I actually appreciated the dreary weather here when I studied here in 2005 -- it feels better to stay in and read and write while freezing rain and winds slap against those unfortunate enough to need to be out.

I've been busy looking for a permanent home here, and in the meantime living in various friends' and friends-of-friends' houses while they're off vacationing in warmer places. I feel like a bit of a sucker having paid for my current landlord's airfare to Panama in exchange for the keys to his poorly-heated house. But I was there last year. Now it's my turn to suffer.

I'm not suffering because of the house, that's an exaggeration. Things are, for the most part, actually going my way. My plans are all falling into place: I've got an office; am busy officially establishing myself as a tax-paying resident; and am in negotiation to buy a home. Unfortunately, the unplanned development (my favorite kind) of the past few months seems to have fallen apart. But life goes on.

I've got a radio show with some friends here. Here's a direct link to the latest show.