A Life in Numbers

It has been almost a year since I started this blog; since I made the decision to laugh at myself and life.

Wait, that would make it almost a year since I turned 30! Which can only mean that in a few days time... Oh Lord! Let's just say none of us is getting any younger...

This thought has given me a sudden urge to look back and evaluate (and question) what on earth have I done with all of these days? They escape like sand through my fingers.

Why do we do this? Why do we count things? Why do we enjoy so much keeping track of time to celebrate thresholds? But we do. Even unconsciously we do. I think that that first "when do we arrive?" from the back of our parent's car is what triggers a live constructed around counts...

A life in numbers. My life in numbers:

• 7 months without a drop of Diet Coke - I used to drink an average of 3 cans per day
• 10 hours of sleep - It's Sunday
• 20 minute swim
• 15 items in my shopping list
• 84% of battery in my laptop
• 8 emails in my inbox
• 29 degrees Celsius
• 4 more days to see my niece
• 20:11 of 10th of August of 2014

Would stop counting make it all count?

On the Verge

I'm turning 30 in a couple of days.

My social media feed is literally inundated with wedding pictures and cute babies which all my classmates seem to be currently popping out (very politically incorrect use of words, but some are already on their second!). Me? Well, let's see: I'm boyfriend-less, child-less and renting (choosing my words carefully here, since thank to God I'm not 'homeless'). Falling out of the norm has convicted me to a set of society where confusion and questioning oneself reigns. "What am I doing wrong?" I find myself further and further away from those who were once so close, with less and less things in common. Whilst the girl sitting next to me in 2nd grade is engaged delivering a human being into this world, my major accomplishment to date is that I've finally managed to hold my Bakāsana for longer than a second (I know, well done me, right? I mean, it happened once and that still counts). 

I guess I should have stopped comparing myself to others waaaay back. Let's face it: at 5 I was probably eating snots but surely not composing symphonies (Mozart), at 12 I was writing boys names in the back of by school books and not plays (Lope de Vega), and the fake sickness that kept me out of lectures at 19, were never granted with a nomination to the Academy Awards (Leonardo di Caprio).

As the 3.0. version of myself becomes a reality, I've decided to care less and count more. Care less about what other people do (as long as they are happy and don't hurt anyone) and count more blessings. I don't seem to adhere to any 30-year-old stereotype anyway - which, by the way, creates a lot of amusing confusion in people. The other day I was buying cigarettes in Spain (where, literally everyone smokes) and the guy asked for my ID! Didn't know whether to be offended or flattered. It must be the Johnson's baby oil that I diligently use after my daily shower (hey, maybe I do have things to talk about to my toddlers' mums friends!). Other times, I'm taken as ancient for I find true happiness immersed in the pages of a book with a mug of tea in my hand. 

Let the laughing at oneself begin!