When That Thing You Thought You Wanted More Than Anything Is No Longer So Interesting.

Growing up is a very goal-oriented experience.  At least, it was for me. In high school, I wanted to go to a good college, so I worked hard and I did. In college, I wanted to graduate with one of those fancy marketing jobs, so I figured out how to get one. Once I was disinterested in making powerpoint decks and speaking in jargon, I wanted to work in PR. And after a few years in PR, I wanted to be on TV- and for over ten years of my life, I progressed that on-air career into more than I ever could have imagined when I initially thought "Hey, if I book TV segments every Friday I can expense my blow-outs and have good hair all weekend." 

The drive to keep pushing on was a combination of a few things- now that I look back on it.

Genuine Passion for Style & Beauty + Financial Independence + Role Model for My Daughter(s) + My Inherently Competitive Nature  

In an almost robotic way, I kept hustling to book more segments, produce more videos, pursuing a goal I created for myself when I was 26 years old- to get a regular gig on a major show, or have my own show/video series, or something like that.  Basically, to "win" whatever game I had convinced myself I was in. But I have come to realize that it isn't the game I care about winning anymore. It is a game I am honored to participate in at a recreational level because- shocker of all shocker for anyone who knows me- I am TOTALLY cool with doing it for the fun of it as opposed to the trophy. 

My identity has always been very tied to a laser focus on achieving some form of a big career. 

Currently, I am 5 years into this motherhood thing, 3.5 years into the suburban migration, and, if I were to be honest with myself, probably 1.5 years into complete and utter confusion about what the hell I want to be when I grow up.  

Does this sound familiar to anyone else? 

It feels really freaking weird to allow yourself to acknowledge that the thing you thought you wanted more than anything is no longer so interesting.

The things that are interesting to me are many: Sharing my life and the best style, beauty and kids finds that make it better/easier/healthier/more fun on my own terms via this blog, Instagram and Facebook, enjoying  afternoons in the playroom with my daughters, figuring out cool DIYs and organizing hacks in an attempt give order to the madness of our busy life and making our home a calm place for Brian to come home to each night, cultivating my own aesthetic by seeking out  interior design inspo and emerging contemporary artists, learning new skills to make everything from creating blog images to filing our taxes easier, testing (sometimes unsuccessfully) recipes and actually being that wife who has (gasp!) dinner on the table when her husband gets home from work, spending quality time with friends that are easily among the most amazing and inspiring women I have ever met, and the list goes on. And on.  

Mostly things I never in a million years thought I would care about, but alas, I do. 

For me to not feel a pang of envy when I see someone doing a morning show segment that I could be doing is still something I am getting used to.  I expected it to feel empowering- and it definitely  does- but the lack of competitive spirit also forces me to into this mental spiral of "OMG am I giving up/am I going to regret this/is this a phase/why did I work so hard for all those years/yada yada yada." Then, minutes later, I drop Alexa off at school, leave Goldie at home with our nanny, hop into my SUV  with 2 car seats in the back and Goldfish crumbs all over the floor, drive to a SoulCycle class, and pretty much say to myself on repeat the entire time "Am I a total cliché? And if I am, do I really give a sh*t? I don't think so. But should I?"

So, that is where I am right now. Somewhere between figuring out what I want to be when I grow up, and reconciling that with the person I always thought I wanted to grow up to be.