I'm turning 35 in a few days, but it already feels as if I've lived several lives.
At 22, I was a newspaper reporter writing feature articles—profiles and colorful stories on human nature. I got to meet more people and hear more stories than I could have ever imagined. I used to try to live all those stories before releasing them onto paper, so despite my age, it felt like I'd already experienced hundreds of lifetimes.
My days as a journalist have passed, but they left me with the desire to wander among different worlds, different people, and different stories. I discovered a passion for going through life wearing different hats.
After my years of being a writer, I wore the colorful hat of the advertising yuppie, with all its coolness and prestige. Then, I wore the hat of a serious, responsible banking executive.
Though I was comfortable in this hat, life soon kicked me out of it. I fell in love with a man, and I had to choose between my mind and heart, or specifically between a career and love.
Without thinking—because thinking was impossible at the time anyways—I chose the heart. I quit my job, packed my things, and moved across Europe to be with the man I loved and would ultimately marry and have a baby girl alongside.
With that, I traded in my last hat—and I felt completely empty without it.