From time to time, I find myself increasingly depressed about the loss of the drive and ambition that once filled out the idea of how I would be as an adult. I have great plans for myself and I saw no boundaries to the possibilities in my future. I thought by the time I was twenty-five, I would single, fabulous and rolling in money. I would be powerful. I would have a fabulous career and still have time for my friends. I would have amazing clothes and my own place to live. I would not have a roommate and I would have enough money to purchase my own car. I would be a published writer and look devastating in a photograph. I would be amazing.
Instead at twenty-five, I find myself married, exhausted and rolling in bills. I tried to buy into the Suze Orman “Young Fabulous and Broke” mentality but at this point, all I feel like is broke. The truth of the matter is I am not all that powerful. In fact, I find that I have a much better understanding of just how weak I can be. I have a great job but I don’t yet have a career. I don’t have time for my friends. I don’t have time for myself. I haven’t bought new clothes in about two years and that isn’t for a lack of a desire to have new clothes. I live with my father-in-law. I will probably have a roommate for the rest of my life, but fortunately my roommate is also my bed mate. I am still driving my grandfather’s old Buick and I barely have enough money for preventative maintenance on that. I have been too afraid to send my words to a publisher for review. And lately, I look more like a hot mess in photographs instead of devastating. Some mornings, I wake up and find myself amazed at how different my life is from the life I imagined.
I’m not sure I would change any of it though. As tempting as the imaginary life I planned for myself at eighteen sounds, it sounds incredibly empty to me now. I would not have my husband in that life – in his place, I would most likely find superficial sexual partners. I would probably be a slave to my work and I would probably be chasing the great almighty dollar. My plan from when I was eighteen does not have any form of charity involved. It also doesn’t have anything that resembles a relationship with God – something I would not trade for anything in the world. I would not have anyone to come home to and to cook for – I would have myself. It would be a lonely existence.
I still miss the ambition that I now lack but I feel no urge to try to recreate it. I desire nice things – I want to own my home, my own car. I want to have beautiful clothes and exquisite jewelry. But I want to be comfortable more. I want to take the time to appreciate the youth that is on my husband’s face and I want to memorize how tight his skin feels against the muscles of his arm. I want to enjoy the time I have married as this life will be far shorter than I anticipate it seeming. I do not want my youth to be wasted while I am young. I want to savor this time as it will all too quickly pass. Too quickly we will find ourselves with children and too quickly we will find that those children will have made children of their own. Too quickly we will find that our youth has left and our ambition brought us no farther than our laziness.
I would rather have the reality of my current situation than the false life I once dreamt of.
And it is sweet.
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