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.