Throughout my life, I have viewed myself as a driven individual—balancing various jobs, freelance assignments, and late-night writing sessions in pursuit of my aspirations. Seven years ago, I embraced motherhood, adding another layer to my ambitions. I’ve managed to publish several books with smaller presses and countless articles, even speaking at various conferences. While I’m proud of my accomplishments at 40, my aspirations of becoming a renowned novelist or magazine writer still feel unfulfilled.
As I entered my 40s last year, I felt a wave of uncertainty wash over me. I realized I had aged out of awards like “Top Writers Under 40” and “Five Under 35.” This feeling was compounded when I met a remarkable group of twenty-something professionals through a networking event. These accomplished young women seemed to have meticulously crafted career paths from an early age, landing pieces in prestigious publications such as The New Yorker and The Paris Review. They occupy influential roles in major media organizations and contribute to beloved television shows. Many of them possess multiple degrees and have support staff like personal assistants and publicists. It’s evident they are poised to shape the future.
In light of this, my choice not to pursue a journalism graduate degree or to relocate to New York during my 20s now feels like a regrettable decision. I often find myself waking in a panic, questioning, “What’s next?” Although I continue to labor as a writer, I can’t shake the feeling that I may have missed a pivotal opportunity in my career.
Am I experiencing a midlife crisis? While some women my age might fantasize about youthful romances, I envision a cozy apartment in New York’s East Village, where I can immerse myself in blissful solitude. I see myself donning luxurious socks, pacing across polished hardwood floors, waiting for inspiration to strike for my next book or lengthy article. Friends would drop by with affordable bottles of wine, sharing garlic-stuffed olives and engaging in discussions about intersectionality and poetry.
However, such dreams are fragile and unrealistic—who can truly afford a quaint East Village apartment? Moreover, years of freelance writing have shown me that even the most ideal jobs come with their own stresses.
Perhaps I didn’t squander my 20s after all. I devoured books, penned countless imperfect words in inexpensive notebooks, and enrolled in every writing class I could manage on my limited budget. I volunteered to produce a literary radio program and organized a literary salon, inviting local authors to share their work. I led a creative life, even if it hasn’t resulted in fame or fortune.
In reality, most individuals I know in their 40s did not follow a straightforward path to professional satisfaction. Growing up in Northern California, a region known for its “self-discovery” ethos, I have often chosen joy over societal expectations. While this route may not have positioned me as a media powerhouse, it has instilled a sense of purpose in my life.
Additionally, had I followed a more traditional path in my 20s, I would not have the incredible 7-year-old son who consistently opens my eyes to the beauty in small things, reminding me of our connection to the universe. There would also be no supportive husband who encourages my writing endeavors, even when those efforts aren’t financially rewarding.
If I had pursued that other route, I might find myself like many others—struggling to navigate the high costs of urban living, ensnared in a conventional notion of success while yearning for the quieter, more fulfilling life I currently cherish: residing in a modest home in a close-knit community, enjoying the small victories that come without overwhelming stress.
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In summary, reflecting on my 20s leads me to recognize that my journey, filled with unconventional choices, has ultimately brought me to a life of fulfillment, even amid the pressures of societal expectations.
Keyphrase: Reflecting on My 20s
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