Your Timeline

Life is so long.

At least, I hope mine will be.

So sometimes I genuinely don't understand the rush. The rush to find someone, get married, have children, settle down, and somehow have the rest of my life figured out before I've even had the chance to experience everything, I've worked so hard for.

And maybe that's the part that gets me.

I've worked really hard for this life.

I've worked hard for my independence. I've worked hard for my career. I've worked hard for the opportunities I've been given and even harder for some of the ones I haven't gotten yet. There are still places I want to live, things I want to accomplish, risks I want to take, and versions of myself I haven't had the chance to meet.

Why is it so wrong that I want all of that and love?

I don't want to choose between being deeply loved and deeply fulfilled.

I want the ridiculous love story. I want the person I can't wait to come home to. I want to build a life with someone. And one day, I want motherhood too. I want the ordinary Sunday mornings, the family traditions, the school events, the chaos, the routines—all of it.

I just don't need it all right now.

And honestly, part of the reason I don't want to rush into motherhood is because of how seriously I take it.

When I become a mother, I want to be a mother wholeheartedly.

I don't want my children to feel like they're competing with a version of my life I never got to experience. I don't want to look at them and quietly wonder about all the things I wish I had done before they came along. They shouldn't have to carry the weight of dreams I chose to leave unfinished.

I want to be there.

I want to know their teachers' names. I want to be obnoxiously present at their games, recitals, ceremonies, or whatever they decide to love. I want to know what's happening in their lives beyond the answer they give me when I ask how their day was. I want our home to be somewhere they actually want to come back to.

I want to have the capacity to be involved, dedicated, and present—not because motherhood becomes my entire identity, but because if I choose to bring children into this world, I want to take that responsibility seriously.

And maybe that's exactly why I'm not rushing.

There are things I want to do first.

Not because my dreams are more important than my future family, but because I don't want to resent either one for costing me the other.

I want to arrive at motherhood excited for that chapter of my life—not wondering if I closed the previous one too soon.

And I don't think wanting more time makes me less serious about love, either.

I've always believed love is abundant. I don't mean that people are replaceable or that meaningful relationships are easy to find. I mean I don't believe love is this scarce resource that I have to cling to the second it appears, terrified that I'll never experience it again.

Love happens. Love grows. Love is built.

And if I'm lucky enough to build something real with someone, I want our love to have enough room for both of us to continue becoming who we're supposed to be.

Of course love will change my plans. How could it not? When you love someone, their dreams, needs, fears, and future become part of the equation too. There will be compromises. There will probably be things I thought I wanted that suddenly don't matter as much anymore.

I'm okay with that.

Love can change my timeline. I just don't think it should erase it.

Because compromise is different from looking around one day and realizing I quietly abandoned everything I wanted because I was afraid asking for both would make me difficult to love.

And that's really what I keep coming back to.

Why can't I have both?

Why can't I chase the things I've spent years working toward and still fall stupidly in love?

Why can't I see the world before deciding where I want to stay?

Why can't I build something that's mine and then build something that's ours?

Why can't I become the woman I want to be before I become the mother I want to be?

Why does wanting a big life automatically mean I'm asking for too much?

Maybe I am asking for a lot.

But it's my one life.

I would rather spend it trying to make room for everything I love than start cutting pieces of myself away because someone else decided I was supposed to be finished dreaming by now.

I'm not finished.

And when love finds me—or when I find it—I don't want it to be the end of everything I've been building.

I want it to be part of it.

And when motherhood finds me, I want to be ready to love that chapter wholeheartedly too.

Till next time HOTTIES (mwah)