A clock started ticking the moment I received my master’s degree. I had six years and some change left to prove myself. The Game of Careers started, and I wanted to win. Everybody I knew launched themselves at traineeships at big corporations, but I had a way better plan. My own business as a consultant was guaranteed to get me on top of the Made It Throne. The checklist was simple. First, a minimum six figure income. Second, a house with a fireplace and a garden, no cutting corners. Third, the perfect partner, a hot rolling stone! My strategy was simple: be the best. Grind hard. Never settle for average. Expect the best, perfection takes preparation. I was prepared, the right studies, the right connections, the right attitude, everything. It was just a matter of time.
When the bells of that clock started ringing, it shook my bones.
Time stood still as I opened my apartment door. A loud bang. Confetti rain. Cheering people with paper hats. All my friends and loved ones, celebrating. Celebrating what? 30 years since my first breath. Everybody seemed excited about how far along I was. I was supposed to believe they were proud of me, so I smiled, nodded and poured myself double shots. The drinks turned me quiet. The voice in my head didn’t shut up though. As much as I pushed and pulled, facts were facts. My house had a balcony at best, 3 of my startups didn’t survive. My income was halfway the bottom mark I was expecting. Plus, I don’t want to talk about the heartbreaks I suffered along the way. My friends surprised me with a weekend getaway. I couldn’t join, because of an important sales event that I made up on the spot. My feelings of defeat and failure required solitude.
As much as I saw my 30th as an important finish line in the Game of Careers, I never imagined what happens after. The first month was one with closed curtains and plenty of self-loathing. I didn’t pick up the phone for fun, socializing, or anything related to other humans. The second month I was confronted by the man in the mirror. Maybe I didn’t “make it” the way I wanted. But calling myself a failure was also a lie. The lie I told my friends to get away from their getaway was a small one, compared to the lies I was telling myself. The unrealistic high expectations I set for myself turned my internal dialogue into a toxic mess. Trying to be perfect made my life all about achievements and externalism, resulting in a lonely and unhappy human. The biggest part of that lie was that I had nothing to be grateful for.
My clock towards 30 ran out. My new measure of time became one that’s about the moment. How I experience success these days? Counting my blessings, bathing in gratitude, every moment of every day. Perfectionism was a bottomless pit, while gratitude is a never-ending rainbow. I have so much to cherish, from my imperfect friends to my partner who’s recovering from a fat burnout. I’m grateful to my crooked nose that allows me to breathe. Grateful for my feet. Despite being in a wheelchair, my body takes me plenty of places. My bank account might not be seeing six figures come in, but it hasn’t been red for months. And maybe my relationship with my father will always be a bumpy road, but I have someone to call dad.
Maybe my falling and getting back up can save you some trouble. Try to make a list of things that are far from perfect, but without them your life would be empty.
Rooting myself in gratitude helped me in my search for meaning. Maybe, you too are blessed with an imperfect life.
If you’re overthinking things like I did, maybe you want to solve that.