Real stories about dating and relationships in New York City. Truth is more interesting than fiction.

An Email to a Friend

I was exchanging emails last night with a friend. Someone who, like me, tends to be a little hard on herself. Which is ridiculous because she’s an amazing person and a wonderful writer.

Both she and I have been down on ourselves lately because we haven’t accomplished everything we thought we would. You know, when we were younger and dreamed of what our lives would be like.

Anyway, this is a part of one of my emails to her,

“Oh honey, I’ve spent hours (I’m afraid to guestimate how many) crying over what a mess I’ve made of my life. No husband. No family. No BIG accomplishments. No fancy title (any more). No money (anymore).

Just a mess. But then I remember that I know people who have all of that stuff and they’re miserable. Even more miserable than me.

We both need to be a little kinder to ourselves. Every day.”

I wasn’t trying to say that all of my with children friends are miserable. Or that there’s some nobility in doing the starving artist thing, as opposed to the successful career professional thing. Nope. I was just pointing out that each of us needs to find our own way. And that when we were younger and imagining our futures, we were all imagining pretty cookie cutter futures. Success was defined by ticking accomplishments off a list. And that when you get older you realize that those lists don’t really mean much. That all of the ticked boxes in the world can’t guarantee you happiness.


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