At 18, I didn’t want to go to college in the first place. At 22, armed with a B.A., I swore I would never return. Now, why am I going back for a Ph.D.?

Last weekend, I went to a baby shower. The sun was out in Hollywood, and the caterers had outdone themselves. I feasted on salads and mineral water while watching babies and children in Armani crawl across the lawn and play the unceasing array of games they’re so brilliant at inventing, minute by minute.

An unexpected thought sprang to mind; I guess I had let down my guard. It was: hey, if I’m lucky, I’ll be 34 or 35 when I receive my doctorate. That’s a little old to have kids, isn’t it?

This thought made no sense. First of all, my pregnant friend, whom we were celebrating, is 36. I’ve also heard since I was first called a tomboy that women these days can have babies well into their 40s. (This, of course, is frowned upon by several of my Italian friends. It’s not natural, they tell me. It’s not fair to the children.)

Of course, even knowing it was nonsensical didn’t stop me from doing a double-take.

An only child, I’ve never given much thought to having kids.  Somehow I grew up believing my first objective would be to find some sort of occupation which would permit the things I considered necessary to existence: freedom and time to pursue creative projects and visit my dispersed family, enough to pay the bills, and the opportunity to throw myself into my work without being interrupted. Love interests and children being a distraction, I decided they would have to wait until after I discovered my ideal career. How else could I be sure I’d be able to pay for them?

Life being what it is, at 29, I’m still searching for the perfect career.

Or maybe it’s just taken me 29 years to see the writing on the wall.

As so many of my friends in the United States are getting married, having children, and buying their first homes, I’m made ever more aware I have little tangible evidence that what I’ve been doing since graduation has been anything other than a waste of time. In fact, I’ve given up my $600 a month apartment I never had time to visit, and despite the fact that I live in Los Angeles, I’m seriously considering selling my car. In addition, by going back to school, I’m abandoning an exciting, lucrative film career for a grad student salary of $15,000 a year.

Call me crazy.

Times are changing. I could argue that in Italy, children continue living with their parents into their 40s, marry later, and are still going to school in their 30s. Not so different from what I’m doing. However, as far as Italy is concerned, it remains to be seen how the European Union and the euro will change that lifestyle over the next decade.

As my decision is made known to my former classmates, I’ve been surprised by how many of us are questioning the tradition of settling down, taking on lifetime-length financial responsibilities, and taking leave of our families. At the same time, making the decision to “leave the real world” and go back to school has been more difficult than I had anticipated, and not in any of the ways I expected.

Even armed with the news that I’m not alone in the way my life is turning out as I near my 30s, I’m fighting a subtle backlash. I wonder whether it’s exclusively American. With not a little embarrassment, I remember how, at 24, I told my Italian friend, a painter, that he should start taking responsibility for himself and get a job. Five years later, he’s still living with his mother in Rome. He’s also well on his way to becoming a celebrated working modern artist, and his mother is in no hurry for him to leave.

It’s not simple for me to watch as my boyfriend sticks with his 17-year career as a camera assistant, and with his responsibilities as a father and as a son. I watch as my mother, a single career woman, continues to work with no end in sight, in order to support the lifestyle she loves, a lifestyle which is usually made easier by two breadwinners instead of one. Both of them have more responsibilities than I, and neither of them have ever looked back. Just as I have kept my responsibilities to a minimum, and not without sacrifice.

Whose world is more real, anyway? Theirs or mine?

Somehow at 18, going to college seemed like an escape from the real world. After being out of school for seven years, going back feels like I’m entering the real world, though I’m constantly aware that to others, I may appear to be making my escape. It’s a liberation to know, by past experience, that I can live on the $15,000 a year that my fellowship is offering. It won’t be easy, but it’s a choice I’m making with eyes wide open. Maybe I won’t be able to host elaborate dinner parties and take my parents on vacation as I hope I’ll be able to do one day. But getting my Ph.D. will be my first job which pays me to do what I do best, and what I would do even without being paid to do it.