When I was in high school, I wrote a story. More than one, actually, but the one I’m referring to here wasn’t so much a fanfiction as it was a dreamfiction, where I wrote my life as I wanted it to be. I remember writing that my family was rich, our house was better, our cars were cooler, etc. and in the story, as I was bustling about in my oh-so-popular life, I specified that I was wearing a peach shirt, denim overalls (I think they were Guess, and, um, yeah, I was young and foolish. Don’t judge me.), and a silver heart on a long silver necklace.
At the time, that outfit was especially significant to me because I’d seen one of the nice, popular girls wearing it at school. It was just so pretty and so unlike, well, everything I had to wear.
Yesterday, I wore a peach tee-shirt, a pale blue pair of jeans, and silver earrings, and more than once, I thought about that old story. Have I achieved those dreams from long ago? Being popular, in a rich family with the great house and the cool cars? Hardly! My shirt came from Wal-Mart, and the jeans were from Ross Dress For Less: combined they were less than twenty bucks. Yet, I’d look down at my outfit, think of that fiction, and smile, yes, laughing at was a dork I
was am, but feeling pretty good nonetheless about just being me.
Might as well, right? As a quote in the high school yearbook said, “Success is having what you want, but happiness is wanting what you have.”