#114: And that's what it's all about
A birthday essay
I fell off my Pilates reformer—right onto my butt—for the first time in my fifteen years of practicing Pilates. It was humiliating and painful enough that I still feel it every time I get up from a seated or lying position. I know why I fell: a distraction from a very upsetting communication mishap that has resulted in me missing out on a dream brand trip. My body in a workout class staring at one too many bad spray tans in front of me but my mind somewhere entirely elsewhere, trying to soothe a career disappointment.
My brain is wired to maximize opportunities and experiences. Somewhere along the way, I've developed a very specific idea of what a "person in demand" looks like—and I've come to believe that everything has to go exactly according to plan in order for me to become her.
It was my thirty-first birthday three days ago. A fairly unremarkable age, but a birthday nonetheless. I let the man in my life throw me a birthday dinner that involved way too many bottles of wine and so much love from eleven dear friends around the table.
Somewhere between courses, Simone asked me what the highlight of thirty had been and what I hoped for thirty-one. I told the table that thirty was fairly unremarkable too, but not in any bad way. There wasn’t one defining moment or milestone, only that it solidified what I already knew to be true: my purpose and who I am.
I’ve never felt more certain of myself. More driven to make things I’m genuinely passionate about. More committed to a career that challenges me, humbles me, and asks something different of me every day.
But the question of what I hoped for in the year ahead stumped me. I think I said something like, “Make even more money,” which made the whole table laugh. In this economy? It’s not untrue!!!
I care about building a career that affords me freedom. I care about making enough to keep saying yes to the work that excites me and no to the work that doesn't. I like buying the fancy soap, staying at the nice hotel with breakfast included, and having the means to donate to saving neglected dogs. None of those things feel frivolous to me—they're all part of the life I'm trying to build. The life that has meaning.
It is, if I’m also being honest, part of how I've come to define a “person in demand”.
My sister sends me a photo of the engagement ring belonging to my ex-childhood best friend—the first person I ever had a friendship breakup with, more than a decade ago.
The ring is so hideous that it makes me laugh. I didn’t know it was possible to design an engagement ring that looks like a tech startup’s merch. That’s what it looks like. A logo.
“I’m going to hell,” I text my friend, attaching the photo of the ring. But taste has always been my favorite shortcut to understanding people. The personal offense I take to bad taste must be precisely why I’m in the career I’m in.
We didn’t want to go to the Fourth of July party but we went anyways because it’s the thing to do on the Fourth of July. It was strangely depressing. There were American flag cups and tank tops and a weird acoustic medley of patriotic songs. It was hosted at the beautiful second home of a successful CMO—the kind of place that makes me wonder what I have to do in life to own property like that. And then I found myself thinking that if I ever did, I would never landscape it the way they had or furnish it the way they did.
Everyone arrives presenting the version of themselves they want to be known as. The sound engineer in a fedora and long charm necklaces who still can't decide where he wants to raise his family. The biohacking blockchain entrepreneur who speaks almost entirely in buzzwords. The macho lawyer who insists he could never get into Breaking Bad because he grew up around too many drug dealers and doesn't need to learn anything else about them.
These observations are exactly the kind of affirmation I thrive on. They reinforce my belief that my first impressions are telling; that the people who have come to matter most in my life almost always reached me immediately, in some quiet, soul-touching way that made me want to know them better.
We leave the party just shy of two hours and vow to trust our better judgment next time. I am comforted we're on the same page.
Another thing I said in response to Simone’s question was, “I don’t ruminate as much anymore. I’m able to kind of just move on from things that I normally would dwell on.” It is true sometimes, and untrue other times.
It's true when I leave a party early without wondering if I should have stayed. It's untrue when a single disappointment follows me into a Pilates class, distracting me enough to fall off the reformer.
Progress isn't a permanent state and that’s actually relieving.
I am the most content I've been in a long time. I don't feel bad when I drink coffee on an empty stomach. I finally built a closet in my office after two years of saying I would. I say "I love you" with confidence in what those words mean. Four months ago, I promised two neglected dogs I'd get them out. This morning, they were picked up by a rescue organization to begin their rehabilitation and, eventually, their journey to new homes.
For a long time, I thought becoming the person I wanted to be would feel like arriving somewhere. Like I’d have some grand answer when someone asks, “What was the highlight of your year?” Lately, it has felt much quieter than that. It feels like building a life where your words match your actions. Where your instincts become more trustworthy than your anxieties. Where the gap between the person you hope to become and the person you already are grows so small that you stop thinking about it altogether.