When Is It Time to Settle Down?
Halfway across Europe, I asked an impulsive question: what if we did not go home? Now, I’m asking a new question: when is it time to settle down?
Halfway across Europe, I asked an impulsive question: what if we did not go home? Now, I’m asking a new question: when is it time to settle down?
Butter. What survived thousands of miles and months of transportation in order to reach New Zealand’s soldiers in World War I? Love, hope and a lot of butter.
Pulling popular titles from several different age ranges, the following collection covers our physical and philosophical journey past that 25-year mark.
After all, we ask the same questions on birthdays and vacations: Where do I want to go next, and how can I get there?
“30 years is not worth a night of misery,” I insisted, predicting a speedy transition from rustic to agonizing in this weather.
New Zealand had given me snow topped mountains for my birthday. An environment better spent in private chilly reflection, wishing for woolen socks and the chance to be 25 again.
How do you measure the smallness of a town? Count the blocks between its borders, the farm animals grazing in residential front yards? Or how often “the usual” gets ordered at the corner cafe?
So as December 25th looms in New Zealand, I wonder about traditions: about this invisible baggage that’s so often heavier than the backpacks we carry – and a thousand times more valuable than every personal possession inside.
How brilliant would the calendar be if we considered every year an achievement to celebrate, and not just an acknowledgement of impending wrinkles?