The Dreamer's Pen

I am so tired. Even after sleeping well, even after a quiet morning, my body insisted I lie down, and I ended up napping for four hours. Four hours. I’ve never been a napper. I’ve never needed it. And yet here I am giving in because my body won’t let me ignore the weight pressing down on me. It’s not just the dark, gloomy days here in the Pacific Northwest, though those don’t help. This exhaustion feels deeper than that. It feels like my whole self has been quietly, invisibly worn down by years of living in two realities at once.

There’s a duality inside me that I’ve been noticing more clearly lately. Part of me wants to be fully, unapologetically myself: soft, reflective, sensitive, and thoughtful. This is the self I recognize as me, the self that feels alive, the self that can sink into work I love, moments of quiet, books, writing, teaching, guiding, and connecting in meaningful ways. And another part of me has spent years reaching toward something else entirely. A life that isn’t mine, shaped by boldness, by authority, by freedom and luxury, by the kind of confidence and certainty I see in other women. I notice it. I reflect on it. I sometimes wonder what it would feel like. And yet, this life isn’t mine. It never will be. And carrying both of these selves at the same time has quietly exhausted me.

I used to think that earning my master’s degree would change everything. I imagined that the moment I submitted my last exam, life would feel different, elevated, validated. I thought, now people will see me differently. Now I can get that BMW. Now success will finally feel real. But nothing changed. Not really. And looking back, I can’t quite understand why I thought it would. I am a sensitive, introspective soul, and maybe I thought a degree could armor me in a way that my own self awareness never could. Maybe I thought achievement would make me “enough” in a world that admires boldness.

The truth is, I’m soft. Deep. Thoughtful. I can be authoritative when I need to be, and I think I could make a good manager, but not the kind society seems to glorify. I don’t have that brash, unflinching energy that people equate with “success.” And for so long, I tried to squeeze myself into that mold. I tried to live someone else’s story. It has been quietly draining mentally, emotionally, and physically. I’ve been carrying a tension between wanting to honor my true self while also feeling pulled toward a life that isn’t mine.

Even the things I once thought I wanted like the luxury car and the designer handbags (the symbols of having “made it”) don’t matter to me. My Radley bag which is worn and familiar, feels more real, more me, than anything flashy ever could. That’s when it hit me – the life I was chasing wasn’t mine. It was borrowed from someone else’s story. And the more I chased it in my mind the more exhausted I became.

I notice women around me who move through life with incredible freedom. They travel wherever they want. They do whatever they want. They have space and resources and a kind of certainty I’ve never known. And for a moment, I thought I wanted that. I thought maybe life would feel more meaningful if I could live like that. But then I remember something I’ve felt for a long time. If you have it all and if nothing is out of reach, maybe nothing feels as sweet, as earned, and as precious. Maybe it loses its magic. That’s the duality: appreciating the way life can be for some, noticing the freedom and boldness, while also knowing, in my bones, that my life is meaningful in a completely different way. It’s quieter. Slower. Deeper. And finally, I think I’m learning to trust that this is enough.

I think about the movie Baby Boom with Diane Keaton, yes, I’m dating myself, but the story has always stayed with me. In the beginning, her character is chasing a life she thinks she wants. By the end, she realizes what matters: connection, authenticity, simplicity. That’s where I am now. I think my body, exhausted as it is, has been trying to tell me the same thing: slow down. Stop chasing. Stop trying to live someone else’s life. Start living your own.

I grew up low income and yet I was happy. Simple things brought joy. Even our little family of three had its own kind of sweetness. And now, as I downsize my house and my life, I feel it again, how nourishing simplicity can be. I can’t imagine maintaining a lifestyle that doesn’t resonate with me. Space, quiet, and slower rhythms feel like home. They feel like me.

And now it’s the week of Thanksgiving—just two days away. I’m realizing I have so much to be thankful for. I have a life that fits me. A life that nourishes me. I’m not out here chasing something that isn’t mine. I am not one of those women and I don’t need to be. I am me. Soft. Thoughtful. Reflective. Deep. And that, finally, is enough. I am grateful for that. Truly.

Success, I’m learning, isn’t about titles, luxury, or commanding a room. Success, for me, is teaching, connecting, and guiding. It’s living in alignment with my soul. Quiet. Meaningful. Real. Not flashy. Just true.

The version of success I thought I wanted was borrowed. My real life, my real success, is softer, slower, deeper. And finally, I feel ready to honor it. To let it be enough. To let myself be enough.