Is there life after 30?

We had a meeting of classmates here recently. I graduated from school - I would not lie - 12 years ago. Thirty me already. I will not bore you with a description of a party after ten years of release, because I did not have this holiday of my life. At a meeting with my classmates, my school friend just did not go.

Have thought - and sense? There, people with whom I have not seen each other for more than 10 years, will ask questions: did I marry? Where are my children? WHAT??? No? And why did not I start them yet? Do I have a mortgage? Also no? Well, darkness, of course, is darkness. They will get negative answers to all these questions and will breathe deeply: they say, that's the poor guy. Thank God, our life was a success.

I, in turn, probably think: thank God, I'm not so fat, for example, a woman (or man) with two children, who works at a factory, then goes on a minibus to a supermarket, traips with packages home, prepares a three-course dinner for his big and not necessarily friendly family, and at night he puts on a nightcap and sweats his back with a fast-gel. Because usually such people ask such questions. Nothing personal, just a generalized example.

I remember, at the dawn of my youth, I watched the all-sex series "Sex and the City", adored by all women, in which Carrie Bradshaw and her faithful friends, at the time girls of about 30, lamented their loneliness, looking for men of their dreams and their own way of life. Also were surprised: why in 30 years it is indispensable to be a family man? I even empathized at the age of 18 and I was sure that at any age it is necessary to enjoy life in all its manifestations, not to listen to anyone and know that everything has its time. And now I'm 30, I also do not doubt this and wonder why it is not accepted in our society to respect those who at this age have not yet matured for the family.

Do not get me wrong: I have absolutely nothing against family people with children, decent work, with their right moral values, which are absolutely happy at the same time. I have such examples before my eyes, I really admire them and in the future, I hope, will become about the same.

I just can not understand one thing: why do so many people try to get into my soul with questions about the disorganization of my personal life in the manner of their own? Former classmates, classmates, colleagues at work, distant relatives. Do not they care how others live if they are immensely happy? If they like that their life goes that way and nothing else?

By God, I'd rather be pleased with my other successes: that I have a beloved man, a favorite thing, that I travel, live in my own pleasure, do self-development, self-education, career, after all. Asked when meeting, how do I do, what's new at all. And so on.

I am sure that I alone, with an enviable regularity, answer such tactless and unceremonious questions: this fate will befall any woman who lived to be 30 years old and did not acquire the family-material attributes inherent in age. Sometimes it even seems to me that the "family status" graph together with the housing issue for most of my acquaintances are the determining factors of my status of a successful or not a person.

Why am I suddenly so indignant? Because in fact these questions, like many other my peers, have been asked since the age of 25. But when you turn 30, they start to sound more and more often, from people all the less familiar, and at the same time more and more aggressively and shamelessly. So, as if a person's life after 30 years should be clearly within certain limits, it is not known by whom and what for established.

I'll tell you a secret: every person has his own ideas about life, including that which comes after 30 years. It is, this life, even if it is not completely family or not family at all. So why do I respect those who created their family and are really happy in it, and all those who are on the other side of the barricades often sympathize with me?

It worries me also because I am a man of doubt. Put a little pressure on me-that's all. There is no my personal opinion. They say to me: "An, it's time for you." And I gradually start to think, maybe it's time? I'm starting to get nervous. Bad to sleep. Candy to eat at night. Then fried potatoes and other hamburgers. Then I get fat. Then my depression begins. Then I get books on self-development and plan to make an appointment with a psychologist. Then my man comes and asks: "Do you really want a family and children right now?" And I understand - yes, I want. But not right now! Right now they want all the rest for me. And I need a little more time for myself.

Here got it. Honestly.

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