I spent my twenties waiting for a “sign” that never came
I turned 30 last month. No party, just a quiet dinner with my parents and a slice of cake I bought myself on the way home. The whole day I kept waiting for some kind of feeling to hit me — regret, panic, relief. Nothing did.
The thing is, I’ve spent most of my adult life in a kind of holding pattern. Not depressed exactly, not happy either. Just... waiting. Waiting for the right moment to quit the job I don’t hate but don’t care about. Waiting to feel motivated enough to start running again. Waiting for someone to tell me I’m on the right track.
My roommate moved out last month to take a job in another city. Before he left he said something that’s been stuck in my head: “You’re the most patient person I know, but I don’t know what you’re waiting for.” I laughed it off. But he’s right.
I think part of it is fear of making a wrong move. If I stay still, I can’t mess anything up. But staying still is also a choice, and lately it’s starting to feel like the wrong one. I have this image of myself at 40, still in the same apartment, still telling myself I’ll figure it out next year.
I don’t know what I’m looking for by posting this. Maybe just to say it out loud to people who aren’t my parents. Has anyone else snapped out of a long waiting period? What did it for you?