“What do people our age do for fun?”
“Whatever we want. And whatever you enjoy doing becomes your version of ‘what a thirtysomething does for fun.’ So, figure out what you enjoy. And do that.”
I am annoyingly on-the-nose when I’m giving my friends advice. I have no idea why I suck so badly at advising myself. But there it is — a truth that I’m forced to come back to over and over again. There’s no blueprint for the life I’ve created. I don’t make enough to be the “rich/well-traveled auntie.” Am not energetic enough to be the “forever young auntie.” And don’t enjoy the opposite sex enough to be the “flirty auntie.” I have to carve my middle-aged life out of the big ball of clay that is the endless space and time I’ve afforded myself with my lifestyle choices.
That idea continues to thrill and terrify me.