I’m a thinker. And these are some of the things I think about. Regularly.
Does he really love me?
Why am I doing this job?
Why don’t I pursue what I really want to do in life?
What do I really want to do in life?
Why hasn’t anyone proposed to me?
Why am I still renting and not buying?
Why do I only have $93 in my checking account?
Where is my savings account?
Why don’t I like my mother?
Why do I have to go to happy hour every Friday?
Why am I so sensitive?
Why do I feel insurmountable feelings of envy?
Why don’t I get pedicures?
When does it get better?
When will I meet him?
Am I good enough?
I’ve read somewhere that the most successful people are the ones who ask questions. But are these the right ones. I’m twenty-eight.
