Are we done trying to do all the things yet? Can we just exist?

Have we romanticized happiness and success so much so it’s becomes out of reach?

After accomplishing great tasks I always veer towards thoughts of “okay, what’s next?” Like theres some perpetual conveyor belt of achievements and if it remains empty, I’m an abandoned factory.

For instance— I completed my masters degree in 2023 and I vividly remember people asking what the plan was and my response was always the same: nothing. It wasn’t a stepping stone for me. I simply found myself needing an outlet duing quarantine and it led me to a degree. Something about structured learning invigorates my mind regardless of the outcome. I graduated and kept working like nothing happened.

I’ve found myself thinking about that shrug feeling about it all. Like it wasn’t a big deal to work full time and be in a master’s program, sometimes taking two courses at once (which I do not recommend btw), and then finish with distinction (a 4.0 gpa). How did great accomplishments just become another notch in the belt? I was so busy considering it just another thing on my conveyor, I forgot to consider it amazing. Maybe it didn’t drastically change my life immediately but it was something I deeply cared about doing because I invested time and effort and made sacrifices. So many nights spent writing and researching—locking in, as the kids.

After the fireworks of crossing the stage subsided, I found myself searching for that same feeling in the absence. The ache of not working towards something was daunting. Should I apply for a new job? Should I get another degree? What was next? I didn’t have the answers and I sort of felt useless and that felt silly. Honestly, I was sad. I couldn’t shake the urge to do something. Anything.

Eventually, it became clear that I equated achievement with value. Like doing things made me more worthy of the wonders that seemed out of reach. Love; money; peace. Somehow, I figured doing more meant I was moving closer towards those things.

My favorite saying is “do not confuse movement with progress, a rocking chair moves continuously but never changes places.” Yet I was caught up in the idea that my movement, or lack thereof, following my graduation meant I wasn’t doing enough or that I was settling. Robbing myself of relishing the joy it brought me. Minimizing the success. What a shame it was to live in this space.

Therapy helped me see how my constant was busyness; a way to avoid things I wasn’t ready to face by filling space. Having less time to sit and wonder about the internal work meant I was happy.

Years later I still stumble upon this thought. Will happiness find a home in me? Will I ever be done reaching for more? I can only hope that the wave of realizations the past few years will continue to bring me closer to the kind of peace that welcomes the new and accepts where I am in all things. Not searching, just living. Simply… existing because that, that is something too.