My so-called ‘full life’. Was it full? Work, gym, home to my cat, read a book, watch TV, and then do it all over again for five days straight. My weekends used to be better – hanging out with my girlfriends – shopping, movies, lunch, day trips, sometimes weekends away. But when most of your friends get married in the space of two years and start having children, their time is eaten up by husbands and babies. ‘Eaten up’. That sounds a little judgey. My married friends were happy in their lives and I shouldn’t begrudge them that – didn’t begrudge them that.

The thing was, I could busy myself during the week. Work was demanding and sometimes I went to the gym twice in one day. As a result, I had a pretty good body for someone in their late thirties, but it also meant my weekends felt empty in contrast.

It’s not like I never saw my friends, but getting even one of them lined up for an outing required military-precision planning. That meant a typical weekend consisted of two sleep-ins until 7:00am (yes, that was a sleep-in, as I usually got up at 5:30am), chores, a coffee at the beach – solo, a movie – solo, maybe wandering around a mall buying things I didn’t really need – solo, and then Sunday lunch at my parents’ house.

And that I tried to limit to every other week, because my parents led more exciting lives than mine and I didn’t want to be an intrusion. I should say, much to my mother’s disappointment, I showed up to Sunday lunch solo too.

Sitting seaside in Mykonos and doing a mental audit of my life left me feeling miserable. I was such a cliché. What I’d said to Josh was true. I was one floral bedspread away from being a certified spinster! Mental note: if I feel the urge to buy chintz, seek immediate help.

Josh broke into my thoughts. ‘What’s going on in there?’ I was pretty sure he was referring to my head. ‘You look like you’re about to break out in hives or something.’ He was probably right, but he wasn’t helping.

I said the first thing that came to mind. ‘Like I said before, I want my life to be bigger too. My life is boring and lonely.’ But as soon as I said it out loud, I realised how whiny it sounded. ‘Wait, I didn’t mean …’

‘Bigger how?’ he asked, seeming to ignore the whining.

‘Bigger how?’ It was a good question. I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled while I calmed my thoughts.

‘I’m really just complaining about stuff I have the power to change – and I’m realising this as I say it – I do want to change it.’ He didn’t interrupt, which I appreciated, because I was on a bit of a roll.