Me, and My Croûtons

The three-year-old strikes again. I had a big laugh when Olive shared her future career plans with me. To the question, what do you want to become when you grow up?, with characteristic confidence, she responded, 'I want to be myself.' I know what you think. This is just one of those imagined, thirsty for likes Instagram stories. But no, my friends. She really said it. And when I stopped giggling, I started thinking. Not because there's something very profound about it. My niece is no future Dalai lama spreading the word of wisdom (or is she?). But it makes sense to find a job, or a way of life, in general, that is in tune with one's nature. And I can already hear the loud voices of motivational coaches preaching perseverance through tough times, stepping outside of our comfort zone. And I don't entirely refute the 'what-doesn't-kill-you-makes-you-stronger' idea. I merely ask myself where to draw the line between pushing yourself and acting against your ...

Quite a catchy phrase, I must say. Also, one that made me irrevocably fall in love with the 'Fight Club.' If you haven't seen the movie, you should definitely give it a try (spoiler alert: prepare for a mind-fuck). But let us skip the movie review for now. Identifying with your career is quite normal. We humans, however, tend to go to extremes in all areas of life, including the professional one. It's not to say that there is something necessarily good or bad about that. But is the job really all that defines us? Aren't we a sum of more than that: the choices we make, people we meet, things that happen to us?  For my and humanity's sake, I hope we are. 

A short encounter. Yesterday, I went for a swim. The whole mission was obviously not my idea. Like a proper old maid, I'm usually quite reluctant to accept spontaneous invitations, especially those issued after 7 pm, on Saturday evening. This time, however, I couldn't resist and succumbed, yet again, to Olive's sweet little charms.  So, off we went to one of those sanatorium swimming pools, open to the public and in-house patients. The swim was ok. Olive was loud - successfully scared away one grumpy gentleman. But that's not what I want to talk about. As I positioned my thighs against two nozzles releasing bubbles to massage  my imagined cellulite, a middle-aged, smiling woman sat next to me. To break the ice (or the uncomfortable silence), I spat out something along the lines, 'I'm here to combat the fat in my ass.'  She smiled and responded, 'no one really notices staff like that apart from us, girls. Let's just enjoy life instead of dreading cell...