At lunch today, my husband said, “too bad they don’t tell you your life’s going to be worthless when you’re a kid…then your expectations wouldn’t be so high.”
I was shocked.
I mean, sure, we’d both been kvetching about our jobs, our inability to keep up with the house and the general insanity of parenting a toddler, but worthless? That’s not a word I would ever use to describe our lives.
And yet, I know what he means.
Every once in a while (well, maybe slightly more than that), I look around and think, “This is it? This is my life? I thought there was supposed to be…more.”
Like everyone, when I started out, I had dreams of setting the world on fire. Of being a hotshot copywriting wunderkind courted by the hottest agencies and biggest clients. Of writing best selling novels and Oscar-winning screenplays. And, of course, of making millions of dollars in the process.
Instead, I work for a small agency in Indiana. I live in a three-bedroom cookie cutter house in an Anytown USA kind of subdivision. I have a gym membership, a car payment and a wardrobe that reflects my ever yo-yoing weight.
I am the living embodiment of the stereotypical Midwestern woman. And if I stop to think about that for too long? It’s easy to get a little depressed.
But you know what? None of that matters. Those aren’t the things that make a life worthwhile.
You know what does?
Being part of a family that loves you, even through the most miserable of your teenage years.
Finding someone you want to spend your life with—and loving him even when it’d be easier to stop.
Meeting the friends who remain part of you, no matter how far from each other you roam.
Creating a new little person and watching helplessly as she steals more and more of your heart with every step she takes away from you.
It’s the smiles you share. The laughter that catches you off guard. It’s the tears you shed and the anger that roars through your veins. It’s everything that comes with loving and being loved.
Coincidentally, the things that make a life worthwhile are the same things that make me Not Mom of the Year. And if you agree? Kindly do me a favor and vote for me over at Life Without Pink. The part of me that still craves fame and fortune would love to win that little award…