Besides crying in the office bathroom during this exchange of messages, I have a really low moment.
Why am I in France? What’s the purpose of being here? Why stay until I’m eligible for citizenship? Do I need or want it anyway? Why am I in business if my heart is in travel?
Why can’t I meet anyone? Will I ever have a baby?
Does life end after 30 (I’m 28)? Does life end after having a baby?
Is life just a race to do everything you want to do in life before someone else owns you?
Is marriage and motherhood just a chemical joke made of oxytocin and dopamine?
What if i’s not all it’s cracked up to me? Vaginal tears, fistulas, bruised vaginas, deformed breasts, never again being truly free because your life is tied to a little person for good and for all? And you become a motherly coward who forbids your child to take a single risk that you did?
What if love is not so loving after all? What if the price of love is to be tamed, and all that’s given me joy in life is my wildness?
What if he pulls this shit ten years down the road? What if there’s no one out there for me?
What if the love I’m seeking doesn’t actually exist?
Why do I work in this job I don’t love? Why don’t I do something that makes more money even if I have less vacation time? What is wrong with me for not having any ambitions?
What if I always feel disappointed when my dreams come true, like I did when I got work in Paris but was still depressed for another three years?
What if the French are not all they are cracked up to be, and travel is just an escape and I’m a coward who can’t face the world, who can’t face my laundry basket, who prefers to live out of a suitcase because I don’t have the courage to face the challenges of having roots?
What if I’m the kind of person that doesn’t really need them, at least not the way other people do?
What if I will never be happy settled?
What if the problem is not France, not my job, not my single status, but me?
What if I’m too wild, too free, too kind, too giving, too crazy, too sweet, too sensual, too smart, too sexy, too brave?
What if that fantasy back in the day about having a blog and traveling the world was more than just a fantasy, and worse, what if when it came true, it actually didn’t s make me happy since I’d still be stuck with my sorry old self?
Or what if it actually did?