The girl in front of me on the Brown Line has half purple, half brunette hair in an elaborate spiraling braid that circles her head. She is composing an email on her phone to someone — a jeweler. The email is about an upcoming appointment for wedding rings, and contains various requests and specifications. The girl with half-purple hair keeps editing the email; it’s not quite right yet. She keeps changing her mind about the size of the diamonds involved.

I think about how I am twenty-six. I don’t feel old. I feel just right, age-wise. Will I feel ‘old’ when I am twenty-seven? Or will that feeling wait until I turn thirty?

Will I feel old when I am married someday, or only if I remain unwed?

When did ‘remaining unwed’ first occur to me as a concept, anyway? Why does that even matter?

I think back. As a kid, I loved romance. I loved tales of adventure that culminated in two people falling in love through their shared experiences, or falling in love only to be interrupted by an adventure that ends with them falling even more in love. Adventure was key. So was the kiss reward. But I never thought: I need to get married to be happy. I need to get married to be complete. instead, I thought: I want my adventure, and I want the love of my life to be there too.

I think about that a lot. I know what it means to me. I worry that it’s not what other people think it means, and how that could change my experience.

I think about how some of the best people I know have had divorces, already divorced so young. It makes me sad, but I also understand the reality: it was the best solution for them, for their situation. They had to make that choice.

What if it’s the best solution for me too, someday? I seriously do not know if I can handle that thought.

It worries me how deep I am in love, and how strangely I feel about the purple-haired bride on the train fussing about her jeweler appointment. But maybe that’s just because I wish I had purple hair, too.