Its 3:45 in the morning in snowy Vermont.
Well, 2:45 Arkansas time, but 3:45 Vermont time. We’ve been here two days, so I suppose we’re on Vermont time now.
We all fell asleep at 8pm. I woke up at 12:30 and have been wide-eyed since. The location may change, but the insomnia remains the same.
I can’t tell what is keeping me awake tonight – is it the general anxiety? The racing thoughts and ideas? The massive to do list that I’m ignoring in favor of a winter vacation? The slight tinge of headache from a half-glass of wine too many? The scent of bonfire in my hair? The hope and excitement of the coming new year, another chance to believe I can do anything?
It’s all of those things. Or none of them. At 3:45 am, who can decide.
I’ve always gravitated to very late nights and very early mornings. For someone who spent a significant portion of her life afraid of the dark, I now crave the peace that can accompany darkness. The quiet so intense it almost thunders. The stillness that my life lacks during the waking hours. The little pieces of my world that I miss while sleeping.
For instance, did you know Scout talks in her sleep? She dreams so vividly and chatters to herself all night.
And did you know that Avett makes little toots and giggles?
I do now, so I guess it’s not so bad.
And listening to them, watching them while they sleep, I start remembering what I think my purpose in life is.
It’s a weird spot, being on the edge of forty. Last week, I swear I suffered a midlife crisis (that lasted about twelve hours because who has time for a good, old-fashioned yearlong midlife crisis anymore). Out of nowhere, I woke up and decided to assess my current life based on the life I thought I’d have. The trouble is, I was using the Good Life Metric I cobbled together when I was young, before “real” adulthood, before I knew shit-all about anything. The idyllic dreams of someone who the world hasn’t sucker punched, the doe-eyed Taylor Swift debut album version of life dreams.
Rarely does anyone live up to their high school Good Life Metric (unless you’re Taylor Swift, and I am unfortunately not). Rich and famous, I’ve written the Great American Novel and had three kids before I turned thirty, and then I built my Barbie Dream House and lived on the royalties of my books and books-made-into-movies and played with my kids, happily ever after, forever and ever, the end, amen.
Well. Ok. There’s that.
As youngins, we tend to view success as recognition. At least, I did. I wanted to e known for something, to be appreciated for something, to contribute something to society that would set me apart. My parents and the Gifted and Talented Program of Arkansas built me up my entire life, calling me special and talented (which is much better than the alternative, please don’t misunderstand me). But we can’t all cure polio or sing Grammy-winning songs or write like Stephen King. Adulthood makes you redefine success, and that’s what I started realizing.
I’m a millennial who owns a home. I’m happily married with two happy, healthy, smart little kids. I have a great job, by all accounts — I’m appreciated, I do it well, it pays well, and I love my boss. My parents are healthy, my sister is my best friend, I get to travel. My life, as it turns out, is pretty special.
No one knows who I am. The world doesn’t really care. But my husband cares. And my kids care. They think I’m special. Their worlds wouldn’t turn without me. That’s a pretty great impact on society, even if it doesn’t come with awards and red carpets.
Somewhere lies a happy middle ground between blind idealism and cynical realism, but I often struggle to find it. You know how a lot of people call themselves extroverted introverts? I’m an idealistic pragmatist. I know reality – trust me, I know it well – I simply choose to overlook it, ignore it, white-girl-woo-woo it, choosing instead to manifest the fuck out of dreams that maybe I shouldn’t. I’m a Mary Sunshine, a Sue Heck.
But also never being pikachu-shocked when it doesn’t work. To be clear, I believe things can always work out, but I’m just not ever surprised if they don’t. Being virtually unsurprisable can have its advantages. Most of the time, I’m never let down by anyone.
Anyway. I’m overwhelmingly lucky in the life I have. I’m also underwhelmingly living up to my fullest potential.
Que sera sera. Sometimes “good enough” is enough.
