The change must have been gradual, almost imperceptible, but after 3 years into my 30s, it finally showed its face. It happened one morning when my boss was looking particularly exhausted and stressed.
"Throw away all these papers," I joked, pointing to her desk. "It'll make you feel better."
She looked up. "They are your salary raises. Are you sure you want me to bin them?"
"Yes," I said. And I meant it: my annual increase would have been well spent if it could buy a peaceful moment for my boss.
You see, something happened to me when I turned 30. As a 20-something, I was obsessed with the idea of getting a post-graduate education, finding the perfect job, becoming a successful career woman, and - above all - earning a huge salary. Not so big that I'd lose all perspective and not enjoy my money anymore, but a comfortable sum that would enable me to go out to dinner without wondering how to pay for petrol the following week. I used to measure my job, my life - my friends even - in purely monetary terms.
Suddenly though, what's important is a day productively spent, a pleasant memory made, a smile on a friend's or a stranger's face, a green environment, peace on earth… and all the other things I considered clichéd or 'uncool' when I was younger.
"Do you have a fun weekend planned?" I asked a colleague last Friday.
"Oh yes," she gushed. "Today is pay-day so we're hitting the pub straight after work, and we won't stop while there's money left. But I am a responsible person," she added seeing the shock on my face, "I've made arrangements to sleep in my car tonight. And tomorrow there's this new club opening…."
I should have known. She’s 24. I wonder what she’d have said if I told her I was really and truly looking forward to my weekend: sleep till midday, enjoy a leisurely breakfast in the sunroom with one husband, two cats and a pile of books? Frankly, if I had a choice between drinking all night and doing the laundry, I’d choose the laundry every time. It’s far less exhausting to my 30-something psyche - and it has to be done anyway.
The generation gap nowadays is about 9 years… or perhaps it should be measured in marital and offspring status?
A 30-something child-full friend of mine (I am still child-free) says her greatest dream is not to change nappies ever again. And that my worrying about the whales, the universe and my boss’s wellbeing will be placed in perspective when I fall pregnant.
Talk about a metamorphosis!
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