At the beginning of last year, as I struggled to figure out the next step in life, I thought back on what had, at the the time, felt like an honor, and felt only crippling discouragement. I'd thought of all the hallmarks of success for someone in their mid twenties--a husband, kids, real estate, a career--all things I didn't have, and couldn't help but think that maybe my eighth grade peers had gotten it wrong.
At the time, I had all my earthly possessions, including two cute rats, a disassembled bike, and a trunk full of mostly books and games, crammed into my Camry and was halfway through the drive from Kansas to Utah. Though I had some job prospects, I'd had no offers yet, and I still had no idea where I would be living when I arrived. I had been working for my Uncle in Kansas who had generously offered me room and board, and, largely thanks to that time period, I had ample savings, yet every other aspect of my life was insecure enough to make me wonder at least a little what in the world I was doing.
But things fell into place, as they often do.
One year later, I have found a nice apartment in Provo that is walking distance to my favorite climbing gym and to my favorite nephew. I have worked for over a year now at my current job and while work is still work, some days I really enjoy it, and most every day I am grateful for it.
I have reached that stage in life in which my friends are less plentiful but my friendships are deeper. Most of my friends have full time jobs and husbands. Some have children. That they keep in touch despite obstacles and distances means a lot.
While I keep my friends close, I keep my family closer--which is easy to do when all the siblings are out in Provo. We enjoy weekly DnD sessions every Saturday, and every Wednesday, Jordan comes to my complex to watch the garbage truck, and, lately, to play with Tad Cooper's roaches. And did you know that grandparents get discounted plane tickets? That must be the case, because ever since Jordan was born we have seen a lot more of my parents in Utah as well.
This is not to say things are perfect. I could leave out that I've been sick at least once a month already this year, that I was really hoping Biden's student loan relief would come through so that I wouldn't have to pay off student debt, that I still haven't managed the balance of time and finances that would allow me to ski, rock-climb, aerial dance, work, and sleep, or that I am starting to feel a little bit of the anxiety that comes with uprooting a portion of my life and moving to a big city to start law school in the Fall.
But overall, I am satisfied with my care.
I was talking recently with a friend about how we live in a culture of, in the succinct words of The Greatest Showman, never enough. It is hard to be satisfied in a culture that is always wanting more. More sleep. More money. More friends. More time.
I think for a while, I inappropriately conflated satisfaction with comfort. I would be satisfied when I had everything I wanted. But life isn't always comfortable. In fact, a lot of it happens outside of our comfort zone, like driving to Utah with no job and no housing. If we waited until we were comfortable to be satisfied I think we would all-too-likely find ourselves joining Angelica Schuyler in the refrain "I will never be satisfied."
But today--despite the discomfort of illness, anxiety, and, generally speaking, adulting; despite the pervading culture of never enough; despite an obvious lack of some things I thought by my late twenties I'd have--today, I am satisfied. And I call that success.
Candidly,
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