I’ve always thought of myself as quite driven—balancing various jobs, freelance gigs, and late-night fiction writing to chase my aspirations. Seven years ago, I embraced motherhood, adding another layer to my ambitions. I’ve managed to publish a few books through smaller presses and countless articles, and I’ve even spoken at conferences. Not too shabby for someone who just turned 40, although my dreams of becoming a renowned novelist or magazine writer remain unfulfilled.
Last year, as I hit the milestone of 40, I faced a harsh reality. Suddenly, I found myself too old for accolades like “Top Writers Under 40” and “Five Under 35.” To make matters worse, I connected with a group of impressive women in their twenties through a networking event. They seemed to have their careers mapped out from the start, securing placements in prestigious publications like The New Yorker and The Paris Review. Many occupy executive roles at major media firms, and some have even contributed to beloved television shows. With multiple degrees and personal assistants, they’re clearly on a trajectory that will keep them in the spotlight for years to come.
This led me to reflect on my own choices—specifically, my decision not to pursue journalism graduate studies or move to New York during my 20s. I began to wake up in the middle of the night, overwhelmed by a sense of uncertainty about my future. Am I experiencing a midlife crisis? While some women my age might fantasize about a youthful romance, I find myself dreaming of a cozy apartment in New York’s East Village, where I could embrace the solace of solitude. I imagine pacing my hardwood floors, seeking inspiration for my next piece, while friends drop by with affordable wine and we delve into discussions on poetry and social issues.
However, like most dreams, this one is fragile and unrealistic—who could even afford a chic apartment in the East Village today? Plus, years of freelancing have taught me that even the most desirable jobs come with their own stresses.
Perhaps my 20s weren’t a waste after all. I devoured books, filled countless notebooks with rough drafts, and seized every opportunity to learn—from workshops in living rooms to literary salons where I invited local authors to share their work. I lived creatively, even if it didn’t yield fame or fortune.
In truth, many of my peers in their 40s have not followed a conventional path to career satisfaction. Growing up in Northern California, a region known for its “find yourself” culture, I’ve often pursued joy over obligation. While this choice may not have led me to become a media powerhouse, it has enriched my life with meaning.
Moreover, if I had taken a different route, I wouldn’t have my wonderful 7-year-old son, who constantly reveals the beauty of life’s small details—like pointing out budding flowers on hikes and reminding me that “we are all made of the universe.” I also wouldn’t have a partner who supports my writing endeavors, even during financially tough times, allowing me to attend a low-residency MFA program in Vermont.
Had I chosen the more traditional path in my 20s, I might find myself buried under the pressure of city life, yearning for a quieter existence similar to what I have now—living in a modest home in a charming town, surrounded by a close-knit community and enjoying small successes.
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In summary, my 20s were not wasted; they were filled with learning and growth that have shaped who I am today. While I may not fit the typical mold of success, I’ve crafted a life rich in experiences, love, and creativity.