'The Real World'

There comes a time during every graduate's life when they realise what it means to be a part of the "real world". It can come sooner rather than later for some. And I suppose for a few, it may never come at all; the comfort of daddy's bubble is too great.
     It hit me this week.
I was rambling down a muddy path with the autumnal leaves falling behind me when I was struck by a story I had read about how being outdoors made people happier.

   I breathed in the air and reflected on the fact that I had become one of  those city bugs who roll out of their office and huddle back to their terraced houses. This was further accentuated by the sheer awe I felt at the sight of a field full of horses. Gosh, it felt so long since I'd seen a sight like that. I hadn't even realised. I'd broken out of my cyclical cloud to remember a life I once had.
    The real world. Cold, hard concrete with glistening floors and typed conversations.

They say you don't miss something until it's gone.  
     The trouble is, ambition and determination are stronger than childhood fantasies. Compromise is for later life, for days when I fight as a feminist to juggle all pots and pans.