Dear future hubster

Dear future hubster, when you tell me about your bucket list, your dreams, your goals, things you want to do one glorious day, I will take them seriously.  I will evaluate them against (my) reality, and will categorise them as "doable as of tomorrow", "this is actually quite a plan", "requires significant amounts of time/money", "currently out of your control". Note that the categories are not fixed, and they are designed in a way that allows for and encourages progress. Meaning that "currently out of your control" can one day become "doable as of tomorrow". Also note that the ones I consider within reach will be copied over to my list of "hubster's dreams in progress", so I always remember to support your working for them.  My support being asking you time and again where you are with your plans and dreams and ideas, offering time and my two left hands, but also probing whether you still think those t...

Dear future hubster, You may have learnt by now that I'm rather the independent type of girl. I can't change a tyre, but that's due to lack of skill not lack of will; I can build most of my furniture, and certainly can make my own decisions. I'm also used to making them with the knowledge that they will first and foremost impact my life, and that I have to deal with whatever result they produce, mostly by myself. I won't expect you to make my decisions for me, nor will I expect you to make your decisions for me. However.  I will (note the use of future instead of the conditional) deeply appreciate when you make your decisions considering my existence, and I will do the same with you. And there will be moments when I will want to be recognised and treated as priority. It won't happen too often, so you'll know that when it does, it's important. Needless to say, I'll do the same.

Dear future hubster, When you see your sister, your friends, your daughter, any woman you care about feeling gloomy, and you ask them what's wrong, be prepared for them to say: "Meh, hormones." When they say that, 1. be proud that they trust you with a statement that unveils their vulnerability, and 2. do not, for a split second, assume that you're discharged from any further duties. Au contraire. You have just taken up some serious responsibility there. Clearly they are in need of support, probably of the emotionally intelligent type. So bring on the wine and the cheese, turn off your phone, give them your full attention, help them gather the strength to not go back to their shitty exes. These can be difficult times, but they will pass. Pro tip: do not, under any circumstances, assume it's hormones, unless you have been explicitly and specifically told so.

Dear future hubster, I know I've discussed this before, but in my gipsy life, the subject becomes relevant every now and again: how friends happen to you. The choice of words is deliberate here, as I'm a strong believer and frequent beneficiary of accidental friendships. The kind where you bump into a person in a random kitchen (often somebody else's), at a work lunch, classroom, and the next thing you know is you're discussing your (often miserable) love life with them.  Now it's obvious that I don't mean the 'next thing' literally here. I normally put prospective friends on a probation period, and only start talking about boys and literature after they've passed. But the point is that the initial contact was made by accident. We don't walk into those kitchens, lunches, classrooms etc with the intention of finding a great friend. They happen when they are meant to happen. This doesn't mean we don't have a choice. Oh yes we do. ...

Dear future hubster, when I see people running at an early or late hour, or when the weather is not too nice or actually too nice, I always think "Wow, some determined person", and feel strong admiration and a bit of intimidation because that person ignored the weather and the hunger and put on the shoes and got out the door. When I run, I'm sweaty and my hair gets ugly and my face is probably red and puffy, my nose running, and I'm sure I look like I'm suffering, and severely, plus my breathing must sound like Darth Vader competing with a steam engine. But maybe to somebody I look like a determined person who ignored the weather and the hunger and put on the shoes and got out the door.  So next time I see that random person feeling impressed although slightly concerned by my terribly uncoordinated style, I'll try to find the badass in me, and embrace her.