How do we measure success? By the money we earn? By the material possessions we have accumulated? By the wife and the kids and the picket fence? And by the early age which we achieve all these supposedly successful things. I guess society measures success a very different way than I do.
My name is Amy. By standards of society, I am unsuccessful. I don’t own anything and I don’t make a buttload of money. I’m single (will NEVER have kids) and my version of a picket fence is currently a shared driveway in a block of units. And frankly, I’m good with never having any of that.
I won’t lie, sometimes I forget. I see kids I went to school with who are writing for magazines, or singing in bands. Friends gallivanting off around the world.People I know buying their first houses or getting promotions and I think, fuck, what am I doing with my life. And then I remember. Here’s what I’m doing.
I’m working a full time job that pays decent money. I’m independent and clever and I’ve even started to cook…more than once every couple of months. I’m a writer with full intentions of being published and now, after some kind of mini existential crisis a week or so ago, have a plan in place to achieve that goal. Despite my fears and doubts, I’m good at it. In addition to that, I’m a self taught sewist (goddamn it spellcheck, that’s a word!) and now I have a plan in place to improve that too (see existential crisis). I am a combination of intelligence, sass, nice looks (self confidence is key, y’all) and bad dance moves.
I have two incredible best friends that make me laugh all the time and have my back through everything. I have an amazing role model in my dad, an excellent pal in my brother, and my family is super rad. And I have a whole life of experiences. Things I’ve seen and done. And ahead of me, more experiences I’ve yet to…well, experience.
I don’t know about you, but that sounds like a pretty successful 23 years to me.