Dear Sabrina Carpenter,

I'm working late cause I'm an *overachiever*

The other day I googled your age. Sure, you’re not meant to ask people’s age or compare yourself to celebrities, but I let my curiosity win. You’re currently 25. Just a touch older than me. Uncovering this–and the fact you started your career on Disney at just 15–well, that was really good for my ego.

I’ve always said aging doesn’t bother me, but that’s a lie. I don’t care about my hair turning grey or my skin becoming wrinkly. My sister recently (rudely) pointed out a grey hair, so I’m clearly already in the process. I frequently think about retiring by a beach and growing old is a privilege I look forward to. It is collecting memories, experiences and a plethora of relationships. It is giving less of a fuck, becoming more intelligent and more secure of yourself.

My fear around aging is incompetence. It isn’t sickness itself, but the loss of clarity and instinct. The idea of my brain deteriorating terrifies me. When I think about age, I compare it with the opportunities I’ve had and the progress I’ve made. Life is precious, so the thought of wasting time or drifting through days aimlessly is as unsettling to me as growing old. I’ve always been ambitious and there is so much I am proud of, but even with all my accomplishments, I find myself craving more.

When I lived in the Gold Coast, I admired how content people were with their lives. The way people consistently left their office by 5pm to go for sunset beach walks. On an afternoon stroll, I recall a friend saying, “When you have this on your doorstep, why would you want anything more?”

I admired his appreciation, knowing it was earnest. He genuinely thrived surfing in the morning, working a flexible job that allowed him to lean into his hobbies, be outdoors and spend time with his friends and family. I even found myself in a lot of agreement; the sunshine, open water swims, local farmers markets and way I could coordinate to see a friend with just an hour's notice. This leisurely way of life grounded me, gave me a new appreciation of nature and attuned me to the benefits of slowing down. However, even with my love of the Sunshine State, I couldn’t help thinking; how could you not want more?

To be fair, those markets slapped.

When I was a baby, my first word was ‘more.’ It was in relation to food, but like many traits developed in childhood, my appetite for abundance stuck with me. When I am lost, I calm down by setting goals. When I feel restless or bored, I seek fresh experiences. Leaning into learning and my passions has always motivated me. This has been beneficial–it has led me to great opportunities and conventional forms of success. But it is also a vice. I often think about if I am driven or dragged. Time, being the dragger. The concern I haven’t fulfilled enough and there is still so much for me to achieve. If I dropped dead tomorrow, would I be satisfied with what I’m doing or what I have done?

In the past, when I lacked a clear sense of drive, my thoughts spiralled. I remember quitting a toxic job to travel, only to find that the hardest part wasn’t leaving—it was figuring out what came next. I had no idea what I wanted to do. So, very rationally, I began contemplating AI taking over the world and Earth’s collapse due to climate change or an atomic bomb. Feeling so purposeless (and slightly insane), I booked an appointment with a psychologist, hoping she would at least provide me with some direction.

“What are your values?” she asked me in one of our first sessions.

“Um…. a lot of things,” I responded, my eyes meeting hers blanky. No one had ever asked me that.

Whipping out a list of values, she forced me to determine the qualities underpinning my life. Neatly guiding me on the right track, I understood what she was getting at. I needed to use my values as the navigation system underpinning my next moves. Rather than being fuelled by time or societal expectations of how or when to do things, I’m now driven by what gives me purpose. And, the beauty of that is, like hours on a clock, our values and ideals have the freedom to change too.

As I prepared to leave the Gold Coast, I met up with a colleague for a final goodbye. When I mentioned the idea of moving to London, she immediately encouraged it. “It’s something I wish I had done,” she admitted—a sentiment I had heard from several others just a few years older than me. “Do it while you’re young,” she added, echoing a common piece of advice. Of course, fewer responsibilities and financial burdens make these decisions easier. But, a recent conversation challenged me to reconsider this mindset.

At a party, an acquaintance told me she was contemplating moving to Amsterdam. Sharing my experiences, I motivated her to make the move, finding myself repeating the “while you're young” rhetoric I’d consistently been fed.

“I know, but why can’t I move at any point in my life? My older sister said the exact same thing, so I pushed back on her. I was like, ‘Why can’t you move?’ She literally works remotely and her partner has always wanted to live overseas. Realising I’m right, they’re now in the process of planning it,” she told me, with a sense of vindication.

Society ties accomplishments with milestones. You should finish school by 18. Be in a job for at least a year. Married by 30, kids by 35. Go on hiatus at 50 for your mid-life crisis, but god forbid before or after. These intangible measures only exist because of the Ancient Egyptians’ early structuring of time and were later confirmed as relative thanks to Einstein. After all, time is a construct, and without it, these "goals" wouldn't even make sense. So, acting out of pace, rather than fulfilment is just a recipe for disaster, or…conspiring about the apocalypse of AI.

“When you are courting a nice girl an hour seems like a second. When you sit on a red-hot cinder a second seems like an hour. That's relativity.” - Albert Einstein

That in mind, time can be a motivator. It can cause action. In many cases, I’ve set deadlines that have fuelled my next moves. When I first moved to London, I gave myself an ultimatum. Either I found a place to live in my first month or I’d have to return to Australia. Yes, it’s dramatic, but the pressure held me accountable and forced me to act, learning accordingly.

POV: me in my first sublet

Time can also provide closure. Things expire, relationships run their due course and projects come to an end. Like the final scene of a movie, there is something satisfying about those last moments. They round everything off and provide a nice conclusion. Then you get to pick your next movie; try a different cinema, genre or whole new era.

In many ways, life is short and sweet. Just like your song. So, you should milk each minute to the fullest. But if you're slightly lactose intolerant like me, skulling full-cream milk is only going to end in regret. It’s okay to substitute for soy, almond, or oat—whatever suits you. Because moving with intention, rather than rushing, always tastes better.

And, that’s that me, espresso.

xx Mandy