I Always Measured My Life in Bridget Jones' Years

For a long time, I used Bridget Jones as a litmus test for whether or not I was really "behind" in life. This is a cutting room floor paragraph from the creative nonfiction book I'll be publishing this year:

This may sound slightly crazy, but the newest Bridget Jones movie bought me another 5 anxiety-free years. You see, I always measured my life in Bridget Jones’ years. She was like my personality twin, and if she was behind where I was in life and older than me, then I was okay. But then, in the second movie, she figured it all out. As my age crept past the age she was at at the end of the movie, I started to panic full-on. Bridget figured it out before I did! But thankfully, a new movie came out. She’s older, and she “messed up” again, and things worked out just dandy. Not traditional, yet she was happy and quirky and full of life.

I wonder how many women saw themselves reflected in this lovable, self-deprecating character who always seemed to end up in the loveliest movie endings—at least until the next movie came out, where we at least got to see the "afters" of the "Happily Ever After."

The latest movie was just released, and I was not prepared for the emotion of seeing our girl all grown up. Because it meant that we had grown up as well. Those really serious things had now happened in our lives, and life would only get more meaningful/beautiful and harder moving forward.

I wasn't going to write about this cultural phenomenon I grew up with, but then my inbox flashed with the latest newsletter from one of my favourite writers, Marianne Power. She is one of the people that restores my faith in writing. I fell in love with her writing after picking up a copy of her book Help Me at my local drugstore (only pretty successful books end up in my drugstore). She lived in England, and I in Canada, and we connected during the pandemic when I attended her online workshops and felt drawn to her and the community she created in a very connection-barren time. Something about Marianne's writing always captures the things I wish I could say, that I'm definitely thinking about, and offers unique takes on them that I find refreshing.

One of the things I also loved about her was that she was the same age as me and wrote about many of the same topics that I was feeling increasingly obsessive about: spending life as a fabulous single woman or becoming a "we"; to baby or not to baby; what is my role in this life if not a procreator. These were my questions, not necessarily hers, but she was the voice of a single woman without a strong desire to have children who is interesting, impactful, and living a pretty cool life (at least from my perspective). 

I was so interested in our role as women, if not mothers and wives, that I authored a full-on (secret) blog for years about the messiness of it all, with women having the added pressure of the biological clock. It's a pretty intense situation for a single girl in her thirties and early forties. The world has changed, options for life paths have increased, and the roles we play have (thankfully and justifiably) expanded, but expectations feel rooted in history. While I was pulled to follow a different story, to be more independent and honest about my desires, I still felt the pressure to smile when told and not disrupt the image and life that people expected of me.

Regardless of my ultimate choice and chance of motherhood, I felt passionate about changing the narrative that sees women solely as biological mothers as opposed to the million other roles we play. The value we bring to the world on our own, with no tot in tow.

Marianne wrote a newsletter about the new Bridget Jones movie (spoilers ahead), and as usual, she brought a different perspective on this recent addition to the franchise. She highlighted that after all of these years, Bridget hadn't really grown up. I mean, there were elements of growth. Tender moments of grief and motherhood. But still the same insecurities. The same self-deprecating tone. So many of us related to Bridget because we held similar insecurities and desires, and it sucks that this is what is relatable. That we have so much discomfort with being in the world. We feel like failures when we don't live up to some stupid timeline and archaic order of things.

The other part I found disappointing was the need to wrap things up with a gorgeous, baggage-free, piano-playing man perfectly fitting into the human-rights-lawyer-sized hole in our lives. That happy ever after seems to always contain a romantic relationship. The more I read about things as I contemplated what I wanted my life to look like, the more I wanted it to be acceptable and the norm for single women to live together, for friends to invest in homes, for aunties to be revered in the same way as parents. For badass women living life on their own terms to be celebrated and not talked about with a slight judgment in tone. I realize this book was written a long time ago, but I, too, would love a happy ending (or, in my world, a "content" ending) without the traditional love match being the ultimate goal.

My book pitches focused on how my story differed from the stereotypical "girl goes to a foreign country, has a lot of silly/fun/wild adventures, figures out her life and gets the guy." At the end of I Love Here, I was content, but my story was still evolving. As is the story of all of our lives. But I definitely got to the point (through a lot of anxiety and heartache) where I didn't need a guy to feel whole in the world. I didn't get the boy at the end of my big "finding myself" adventure, but I was so happy, fulfilled, and felt like the truest version of myself. 

My path to motherhood was not straight and narrow by any stretch - but I had fully embraced that this single and fabulous existence was an amazing version of life. I realized there would be regret on either side. The world needs mother figures and feminine-energy people whose entire focus is not on raising other humans. Who put their effort and energy into doing other work. We don't need every woman to have a child. Nor every man to father one. Not by any stretch. There are literally too many people for this earth to be sustained. There are a million other reasons to be alive (as Matt Haig said).

Every time Marianne sends her newsletter, I feel inspired to write. I feel connected and privileged to bear witness to someone else's perspective on everyday life. This is the power of writing—this inspiration, this connectedness. I just finished reading Marianne's latest book, Love Me, and it was not the book I expected, which was a fabulous surprise. Proving that the journey is wild and unpredictable and that's what makes it so amazing. I honestly feel like it should be required reading for every adult, single or otherwise, who wants a new definition of love, success, and happy endings. She writes:

"Looking back, I see that my problem was never my life - it was tehs tory I was tellingmyself about my life. It's time to change that story into one that celebrates the many ways there are to love and live."

100% yes. 

I really hope the narrative starts to change. That young women can follow their dreams without some expectation of a romantic partner-driven situation and kids down the line. Until then, I hope all of the brave writers in this world continue sharing. 

If you want to read more from amazing women exploring this complex topic, check out: 

And maybe even my book, when it comes out! Especially if you also love reading about incredible countries to travel to...