A few weeks ago, at the end of a hike to the top of a volcano, we sat basking in the natural springs, dirty sneakers saturated with ash dust, thrown to the side of the rocks.
“Did you bring your slippers for after?” the girl I was with asked me.
I shook my head, cursing myself for being so unorganised. We had woken up late, cue me, throwing things into the back pack last minute. Water, sunglasses and sunscreen were the only essentials I had thought to pack in my sleepy haze, throwing in a swim suit last minute for good measure.
She threw her head back and laughed. “See! This is how I know that I’m ready to be a mom!”.
Her words have been playing in my head like an annoying song that gets jammed in the brain on repeat, ever since. How come at thirty years old, I wasn’t able to organise myself for a day trip, and yet here I was, daydreaming of a not so distant future that contained babies? I really ought to raise the bar to this girls’ level, I told myself. Yes… me, myself and I had work to do.
We were at the gym, before breakfast doing fasted cardio in a bid to lose some weight, slogging it out on the treadmill that overlooked the swimming pool when I felt a familiar lurch. She was right in our line of sight; all tanned, long dark hair, body like a fitness model, petite stature, and elegantly laid out on a sun lounger.
I got an anonymous comment on one of my blogposts. (To see the post in question, click here). Firstly, I am clearly not excelling at this whole blogger-thing – because it must have lay there unnoticed for quite some time, (note to self, must read and pay attention to inbox more frequently), and secondly, I then allowed the feedback to occupy more headspace in my mind than it truly deserved.
In the hook up culture of today’s millennial generation, there is an abundance of apps that make causal encounters easier than ever before, including Tinder, Bumble and Happ’n to name a few, but in a world where one night stands are a mere click away and sex is pretty much readily available, the flip side is an generation who value monogamy and fidelity more than ever.
I’m sitting in a cute little cafe called Ohh Boy, in the Aminta area of Athens, smiling like a slightly crazed person. I have an iced coconut coffee next to me, a cute dog opposite me, and a bowl of greek yoghurt, fruit and honey to the left of me.
Last week I blogged about how saying ‘yes’ to things that I’d usually find an excuse not to do, was changing life for me, albeit in a short period of time. Over the past few months, I have been reading a lot of books on how not to give a fuck about all the things I have given too many fucks about for too long, and somewhere in between all those words, I think I may actually have gradually started giving less fucks.
Being brave isn’t a word that I’d normally use to describe myself. In fact, I don’t really consider myself brave at all. I’d normally consider myself a low-risk taker, probably because I am an only child and a Virgo (except when it comes to buying trainers – on that note, I’m a bit of a gambler!).