Are we aging or just appreciating?

I know what you're thinking --this girl hasn't written anything in ages and now she's invading my newsfeed with two posts in two days... I'm actually writing this for me more than for you, just because I'm so over-excited that I actually feel like writing and I'm not gonna miss out on it. It's magical that a simple night in is inspiring me to write.

So, last night... Let me give you some background information. I am staying with one of my best-friends, in his New York apartment. We met in journalism school 7 years ago right here in Manhattan and have been quite the inseparable pair ever since --like he said yesterday, I don't think I've ever spent so much time hanging out with anyone else. The year after we went to Columbia, we were both in our early twenties, living in New York, starting our careers... and doing all kinds of crazy shit at odd hours in the city that never sleeps.

And so yesterday afternoon, when he came home from work, I was there waiting to hear all about his day. Keep in mind this is my first night in New York City in about 18 months. He comes home after a long day (he's kind of a famous success story) and we wind down as he is telling me about his day. Then we decide to go out --for juice. Apparently New York has turned into this super health-freak zone in the last few years and everywhere you look there is something organic, detoxing, vegan-related and other things I don't understand yet. So we go to this juice bar, and I follow his lead, order this juice that is supposedly really good for you. Then we walk around the neighborhood for about 30 minutes looking for a liquor store, and I have a brief flashback of us 6 years ago... except this time, we're a going in to buy --wait for it-- ginger cognac. Not wine, not beers, not vodka or even whisky. Ginger cognac.

We get home, kick off our shoes, I start making grilled cheese sandwiches, and he takes out two pairs of those hotel slippers and gives me one. By 9pm, we were eating, drinking ginger cognac and watching The Voice ("because it makes his mind switch off"). An hour later we're both ready to shower and go to bed, and I hear him screaming from the bathroom door: "Yas... Are we aging?"

Truth be told, six years ago, on a random tuesday night, we'd sometimes end up renting a car at 11pm and would find ourselves driving to Atlantic City. So yeah, I guess we are aging. But the absolute joy that comes with spending time with a friend eating grilled cheese, drinking cognac, watching The Voice... it's priceless. Even in New York City.

quitting your job is like breaking up. sort of.

It's my last week at a job I've had for the last two years. It's not the first time I resign, I've done it before, yet there's something about quitting that reminds me of breaking up.

Think about it: staying in a bad job is just like staying in a bad relationship. You've been there a few years, the routine has taken over. It's not exciting and as new as when you first started because, let's face it, you know all there is to know and nothing unexpected ever happens anymore. But you stay because it gives you a sense a comfort, of security. You know you're going to get that pay check at the end of the month just like you know you have someone to watch TV with on Sunday afternoon.

I remember the beginning: I felt like I could change the world. The possibilities were endless and I was avid to learn and give it my all. And then somewhere along the line, I got bored. I stopped making an effort because I wasn't motivated anymore, and slowly but surely, I realized I was unhappy. And once you admit that to yourself, there is no turning back.

And so you start thinking about other possibilities. What else is out there for me? Is there a chance I could find something I'm really going to be passionate about? There's the fear that you wont. That you will not find anything else, just like when you break-up there's that fear that you're making a mistake, that you might never find someone who wants to be with you again. But as the weeks pass, you somber more and more into your unhappiness and decide you must leave even if it's scary. And so you collect all your courage and finally do it. You quit. You break-up. And the relief feels wonderful. The other party might be stunned... many times, they don't see it coming --and many times, they do. In any case, they will try to convince you to stay. They will tell you that it's scary out there, that times are rough, that jobs aren't growing on trees and that there's one man for every seven woman. And you will hesitate, because its human nature.

But most of the time, you will be so proud and relieved that you finally had the courage to end it, that you will not hesitate long enough to change your mind.

You will look ahead and get excited about all the new possibilities.

I spend a lot of time wondering what I'm doing with my life. I ask myself a lot of questions, which you know if you've been reading my blog. And I know I'm not alone because I have these conversations with people around me all the time. It's become harder and harder to make a choice about the future. To commit to one job is like committing to one man. In order to know what you want, you have to explore, change, learn about what you like and what you don't like. And each time it takes you one step ahead in your journey.

Wish me luck in mine!

when did we get to that age?

Summer used to be about the beach. It used to be about the sun and the sea and the fact that we didn't have anything to do for three months except sun-tan and have a good time. It used to be about a week in Faqra in August, a trip by boat every once in a while, beach parties at night. But somewhere along the way, summers have come and gone merging into the other seasons, ending before we realize they've begun. I have to consciously stop and look at my calendar, and tell myself that it's July 14 and I haven't been to the beach yet. Not once.

But then again, there is one thing that also reminds me we're in summer: the white flowers hanging on every other door, the invitation cards flooding the entrance table, the harmonious beeping of car convoys... the names changing from double to triple on Facebook (I like this trend women have of keeping their maiden names, so modern-chic), pictures of the big day flooding everyone's walls, the honeymoons in the Maldives or San Francisco.

So when did we get to that age again? Because I think I missed the memo. Just yesterday we were sixteen and we would beg our parents to let us out until 2am and we would sneak out in the middle of the night, have sleepovers, play truth or dare, get drunk and spend the rest of the night throwing up in the guest bathroom of a friend's chalet in Faraya. Now I log on to Facebook with my morning coffee in one hand and my jaw drops as everyday I discover that a friend who I played barbies with when I was 10 years old now has a baby. And bless her heart, she's the cutest thing in the world and I'm so happy for her, but again --when did we reach that age? I log in again this morning and I see another one who is pregnant. I go out for drinks with my friends, and all everyone talks about is that dress she bought for thingy's wedding and the shoes she bought for the other wedding, and there's a wedding on Friday and two on Saturday and the engagement party and the bachelorette and if I hear these words one more time I think I'm going to scream.

There's never been a truer moment for me to say time flies. The last three years have gone by so fast I haven't had the time to pause and catch my breath. Next thing I know I'll be the one adding a name to my name and parading pictures of my belly. Maybe. And suddenly that whole Peter Pan story has a whole new meaning.