At 41, I feel like I’m starting the second half of my life. Looking back, I have loved the first half. In my 20’s, after graduating with a B.A. from the University of Alabama, I drove my tan Volkswagen Bug to Huntington, West Virginia and worked for the next four years as a campus minister, years that would be foundational to my personal maturity and spiritual growth.

 

I then spent a year with a team of Americans teaching English in Olsztyn, Poland. Being the only Americans in a city of 200,000, and meeting few students that spoke English, we entertained ourselves by planning elaborate scavenger hunts for each other and taking day trips for the breakfast buffet at the newly built Marriott hotel in Warsaw, where they served made-to-order Belgian waffles.

 

I became enamored with this hospitable, warm, opinionated and defiant people, the same people who initiated the Solidarity movement in 1980, and decided to move back to Poland indefinitely, this time to the capital, Warsaw.

 

I threw myself into learning the language, motivated by a desire to converse on a heart level with the Polish people. Immersing myself in the culture, I lived in a flat in one of the many Socialist high-rises, used public transportation, attended an all-Polish church, and worked side-by-side with the people in campus ministry. In the process, I made lasting friendships and achieved the ultimate: the Polish people considered me one of their own – in language, manners and choice of lifestyle. 

 

Over the years of living in Europe, I traveled to exotic places I had only dreamed about: the Louvre in Paris, the streets of Pompeii, Gaudi’s architecture in Barcelona, the beaches of Cyprus and the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem.

 

Desiring some intellectual and emotional refreshment, at 38, I left Poland to complete a Master’s degree in Christianity and the Arts in Vancouver, British Columbia. I loved the stimulation and challenge of the academic environment as well as the wild, natural beauty of the west coast of Canada. I was single, happy and fulfilled. That is, until recently.

 

With diploma in hand I moved to Portland, Oregon several months ago to begin a new job. In the commotion of the transition however, it seems as though I forgot to pack my sense of happiness and fulfillment. It’s as if I hit a wall. Uprooting my life and starting over again one more time becomes more and more difficult with age and the frustration has awakened a longing for the stability of a life-long companion and the desire to establish and nurture a family.

 

The realization of it all hit me one day a few weeks ago: I’m a statistic. I am one of a growing number of older, single women who chose to pursue a career after college over having a family only to find herself in her mid-to-late 30’s and early 40’s lonely and desiring a soul mate and children.

 

All my life I’ve fought against the lie that I’m not unique and have sought to prove to myself, my friends and family that I am indeed special. Despite my history however, I’m in fact no different than any other woman. I want to be loved, desired and cherished.

 

The statistic-keepers say we single women want it all: career, job fulfillment, status, love, companionship and children. They also suggest we would probably do things differently if we could. I wouldn’t. In fact, as a senior in college, I dated a man who was kind, considerate, compassionate and even shared my Christian beliefs. But our goals in life differed and the relationship that could have led to marriage instead dissolved. Some would say I gave up my only opportunity to have a husband and family. Maybe I did. As crazy as it seems, I believe it was the right thing to do at the time.

 

So maybe the statistic-keepers are right. I do want it all. The first half of my life was filled with adventure, travel and fulfilling relationships. I’d like the second half to be that and more.

 

Looking back, I don’t regret the choices I’ve made, but my emotions are mixed. In contrast to the benefits of climbing a corporate ladder, I’m content knowing my life has been rich and satisfying as I have chosen to invest my energies in a life-giving cause. At the same time, I’m surprised and disappointed by the fact that my full life in the first half may mean giving up what I want for the second half.

 

            There are days when I wonder if it is truly too late for me. An infamous Newsweek article in 1986 reported that a woman over the age of 35 was at a higher risk of being killed by a terrorist than getting married. Our world has changed for better and worse since then. We all know that terrorist attacks have increased tremendously since 1986 but then so have the rates for single women getting married. The National Center for Health Statistics recorded that in 2000, over 65,000 first-time brides married in the U.S. were over the age of 40. Maybe I still have a chance…