Once upon a time, I wanted a big life and by that I meant having a big, beautiful house, a really nice sports car, a prestigious, upwardly mobile career, and of course, a huge salary. I wanted to be known in my profession, known in my community, and one of those individuals that people admired. And, truth be told, as a member of Generation X, those are things I've always felt that society expected me to want because those things, after all, make up much of the American Dream.
And, as the daughter of American baby boomers, the first generation to do better than their parents and personify the American Dream, and as the granddaughter of an American soldier who fought the Nazis in WWII, I should want that American Dream, right? I mean, not wanting it seems down-right un-American.
So, throughout my life, from my teen years to the present, I've been bombarded by voices telling me to do more, to hustle, to improve, to advance, to acquire, to compete... essentially to go big or go home. For many years, I listened to those voices.
If you happened upon a yearbook from my high school years, you would see my image captured in numerous black and white photographs scattered throughout the worn, yellowing pages. Even though the saying, "Go big or go home," didn't exist in the late 80s or early 90s, I went very big in high school. I was at the top of my class, I played sports, and was involved in more extra-curricular activities than I care to mention. Just take my word when I say that I was THE classic over-achiever. I was even voted Most Likely to Succeed. I'm sure when I left high school that people thought I was going to set the world on fire.
Fast forward 26 years to the present.
I live in a small, modest house that has less than 1300 square feet. It's not fancy or beautifully decorated. I drive a seven year old car that has 145,000 miles on it. I have advanced degrees, but have absolutely no desire to climb the ladder and hold any position higher than the one I currently have. I also work in public education, which earns me less than I could make if I worked in the private health sector. I'm not published, I'm not an expert in my field, nor am I well known outside of my small professional and personal circles.
For the record - I have not set the world on fire.
Fast forward 26 years to the present.
I live in a small, modest house that has less than 1300 square feet. It's not fancy or beautifully decorated. I drive a seven year old car that has 145,000 miles on it. I have advanced degrees, but have absolutely no desire to climb the ladder and hold any position higher than the one I currently have. I also work in public education, which earns me less than I could make if I worked in the private health sector. I'm not published, I'm not an expert in my field, nor am I well known outside of my small professional and personal circles.
For the record - I have not set the world on fire.
My life, in fact, is not big by any stretch of the imagination; it's rather quite small. And you know what? I'm perfectly okay with that.
Sure, there are moments when I look at other people and the lives they lead and for a split second, I find myself envying them. Then I remember - the big life is not for me. Somewhere along the way, somewhere between high school graduation and my early 30s, I realized that the kind of life I thought I wanted (and all the obligatory things associated with it) required more time and energy than I was willing to give.
Sure, big, beautiful houses are nice, but they usually come with hefty mortgages - which I don't want. My house is small, but I love my budget friendly mortgage that doesn't eat up all my take home pay. I have no desire to be house poor.
My beloved Mini Cooper is seven years old, has 145,000 miles on it, and the hood looks as if it's been peppered with buckshot. But, you know know what? It still runs fine, gets me from Point A to Point B, gets great gas mileage, and - best of all - it's paid for! Life without a car payment is sweet.
Yes, I'm working in the equivalent of an entry level position for my field and working in a school is less prestigious than other settings such as acute care or outpatient rehabilitation. But, my days are filled with hugs, smiles, scratch-n-sniff stickers, and lots of laughter. I truly enjoy the company of my students and knowing that I am making very important, lasting contributions to their lives.
I'm not known outside of my small professional circle, I'm not published, nor am I an expert in my field. You will not find me presenting at any speech pathology conference. (Truth be told, I'm usually the one complaining that I have to attend a conference, but I digress.) You see, my profession is not my life's passion, it's what I do to pay the bills. To be known, to be published, to be an expert requires more blood, sweat, and tears than I care to invest. I enjoy what I do, I'm good at what I do, but my career is not my be all end all. There's so much more to me than what I do for a living. Seriously, my profession is the least interesting thing about me.
Even though I've been living a small life and have been happily doing so for the past 15 years, I still hear those nagging voices from time to time, the voices that egg me to join the frantic pace of society.
No, thanks.
I'm never going to earn six figures or win professional awards or build schools in Africa. I'm never going to be well known professionally outside of my small school community or live in a huge house or visit all the places that are on my bucket list. And I'm more than okay with that. My life may not look like much from an outsider's point of view and some may even call it mediocre. I call it simple, small, and most importantly, filled with quiet happiness. That's enough. That's my interpretation of the American Dream.
Thanks for stopping by!
Linking up with:
&
