"She has everything I want," I thought to myself, scrolling through Instagram's discover feed. I didn't know who she was; I had only happened upon her username, but I wanted what I saw: a gorgeous face, exotic places, groups of friends, a handsome boyfriend. She had it all.
I hoped to have it all: the job of my dreams, financial stability, an apartment in the heart of downtown, good health, a loving and supportive spouse, frequent face time with my family and friends, a white picket fence and a dog that rarely barks. That hope faded as time went on. It vanished when I realized I'll never have it all because no one does. No one can. No one will.
And that's when I started living.
I spent my 24th birthday with my best friend exploring the City of Angels.
I took a road trip to Madison, Wisconsin, to play bingo with drag queens while simultaneously raising money and awareness for the AIDS Research Center of Wisconsin.
I flew to Fort Wayne, Indiana, to watch one of my best friends marry her best friend.
I spent less than 48 hours in Miami where I met up with my BFF, a man I knew but had never met and Flo Rida.
I took two planes and two cars to Wheeling, West Virginia, to watch my childhood friend say "I do" to the love of her life.
I took a trip to Vegas for business, but mostly pleasure.
I air-boated through the Everglades, shot arrows, rode horses and hoot and hollered at the rodeo during a glamping trip in South Florida.
I spent Halloween in a yelling match with my best friend at 3 a.m. in the middle of Times Square dressed as Helen and Madeline from the movie Death Becomes Her.
I'm living, and even though I don't have it all-- because no one does, no one can, and no one will-- it feels like I do.