#174: My Barbie headache
This is a free preview of a paid post. To read it in full, subscribe for $5/mo. You’ll gain access to my Tuesday podcast, my Friday recommendations, my monthly Q&A column, and the full paid archive. To learn more, visit Maybe Baby’s glossary/FAQ. Thank you! Good morning! Welcome back to Dear Baby. Today’s Q&A has a loose theme: Questions I’ve been asked a lot but have historically avoided choosing for this column. The first is about whether a person is doomed if they’re over 30 and want things they don’t yet have—very relatable but I tend to assume these people already know the answer to their question. The second is my thoughts on Barbie, which I’ve avoided sharing for months out of discourse fatigue. And the third is about what a day/week in my life looks like from a work perspective, which I always assume will be boring to people, but I’ve gotten it enough now that I may be wrong! As always, the first Q&A is free (sorry for paywalls two weeks in a row). Also, Wednesday marks the podcast return of our boy, one Daniel Nelson, for our advice series Dear Danny. Thank you for the incredible questions as always! Don’t forget you can submit yours in writing here or leave us a voicemail at 802-404-BABY. Doomed at 33
I’m going to give you all the standard answers to this question because you deserve them. But I also want to think about why we ask questions we already know the answers to, particularly as they pertain to “time,” and whether we have it. Because I know you know that you’re not doomed. You just feel doomed in this moment, which, while painful, is a different thing. Some facts: You are the oldest you’ve ever been. You have less time to find a partner and have kids than you’ve ever had, and you’re “starting over” again post-breakup, which is why you’re feeling the squeeze. And yet! (You know what I’m going to say.) One day you’ll be 40, 50, 60, and you’ll still feel full of life, and you’ll look back at being 33 and realize just how young you were. This is how it works to age, and everyone’s constantly talking about how weird it feels, even though it’s exactly how older people always told us it was going to feel. The other day my nanny told me she was dreading turning 24, and nothing could have charmed me more. Imagine dreading turning 24!!! Someone out there probably read your question and felt the same amazement. Have you heard of the end-of-history illusion? It’s the idea that “individuals of all ages believe that they have experienced significant personal growth and changes in tastes up to the present moment, but will not substantially grow or mature in the future.” I don’t think we consciously believe we’re done changing—we may even say we aren’t and mean it—but I do think it’s hard to wrap our minds around just how much change is still going to happen, because if we could, we’d already be enacting it. This, to me, is the crux of the illusion. At all times, we’re the most mature, the most changed, the most world-weary, that we’ve ever been. History feels over, we feel settled in how we see the world. But time won’t bear that out. I don’t mean to trivialize the real biological limitations of getting older as it pertains to having kids. I can appreciate how scary it might feel to know you want something that’s seemingly out of your hands (meeting the right person, being fertile, etc). But you really do have time. I know the years seem to slip by faster as we get older, but that’s only perception—how we perceive time in hindsight. A day still feels just as long as it ever has, and a year still contains 365 of them. A lot can happen in those days, and a lot will. I went from feeling like the “kid decision” was super far away for me at age 32, to trying to get pregnant at 33, to having a baby at 34. In our memories a year may feel like a blip, but that doesn’t mean it actually was. Plus, relationship milestones tend to happen faster in your 30s because people spend less time questioning their readiness. You could meet someone in a month and be trying within a year. Or you could date around (or someone specific) for years then decide to have a kid and still be within a fairly standard timeframe. It may not be your ideal timeframe, but life would be boring if it always hit its marks. I know you’ve probably said all this to yourself already, and I actually don’t think doing this kind of mental life math is the ticket to assuaging your anxiety. Because one day the math may not tip in your favor, and then what are you supposed to do? I always think about that when I see listicles of celebrities who “made it” after 40 or whatever, as if it’s this helpful reframing of success, when actually it’s the same framing of success (riches, fame), just applied to older ages. My point is, convincing you that 10 years is “enough” time does little to reframe the problem in the long run—which is that you feel like your life is a race against the clock. That’s no way to live. I know some people think it’s productive to operate under that kind of pressure, as if it will necessarily lead you toward making things happen, but just as often I think it has a paralyzing effect. Or it does lead you toward decisions, but rushed ones. Regardless, it’s not enjoyable. There’s an alternative path, I think, and it’s not disregarding the reality of your situation completely, but simply trusting yourself to navigate it as it unfolds in the present, and to do that with spirit, curiosity, and enthusiasm. This also means trusting that your future self will have the tools to process whatever fortunes or disappointments befall them. You don’t actually know how you’ll feel in 10 years about any of this—you’ll be different then, full of new perspectives and desires you can’t imagine yet. You don’t need to protect your future self by treating your present like a precursor to “real” life, thereby demeaning it. Your present matters. It’s actually all you have. I’m sorry you’re feeling like this. You’re processing a breakup, too, which means mourning not just a person, but the future you imagined with them. It makes sense that, right now, being single feels like some kind of regression. But soon enough I think you’ll start seeing the possibility in it. Because you’re not actually starting over, you’re moving forward, different, readier than you were before. Barbie thoughts
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