Now It’s Just Life, But Back Then It Was a Dream
A coworker and I were talking the other day about money. He mentioned what he thought some of our managers probably made and started talking about how much better life would be if he made that kind of money.
I stood there listening to him and had a strange realization. I already make somewhere around the number he was talking about.
I’m purposely not going to tell you what that number is because my wife might kill me, but that’s not really the point anyway. What got me was remembering how many different versions of that number I’ve had throughout my life.
There was a time when I made very little money and thought if I could just make a certain amount, I’d be doing pretty damn well.
Every time I reached the amount that once sounded like enough, another amount somehow appeared in front of me. I don’t remember intentionally setting any of these as goals. I wasn’t sitting down with a spreadsheet and planning the next stage of my financial future. I think I was just being a human who’s apparently never fucking satisfied.
The number sounds a lot better when you’re looking at it from the other side. My wife and I both do okay, and we still worry about bills and spend an absolutely ridiculous amount of money feeding our family every week. She’s great at handling our bills and budget, which is probably the only reason we’re allowed to have electricity.
I’ve always heard that the more money you make, the more money you spend. I can confirm that we’ve done our part to keep that saying alive.
But my coworker’s comment made me look backward for a minute, and I realized I’ve done this with a hell of a lot more than money.
When the Dream Just Becomes Your Life
There are things in my life today that I absolutely consider accomplishments. I have a house. My wife and I have built a life together. We’ve raised one son into adulthood and we’re still raising our two younger boys. I wrote and published a novel. A few days ago, I was invited onto my first podcast to talk about addiction, my writing, and my story.
I’m proud of all of those things. I just don’t spend very much time thinking about them as accomplishments.
Life gets busy. There’s always another bill, another problem, another thing I’m trying to accomplish. Even when something good happens, I seem to enjoy it for a little while before turning around to see what else needs done.
My two younger boys might be the best example. Their teachers consistently tell us they’re kind, helpful, well-behaved kids who do great in school. Somehow my immediate reaction is usually to give my boys all the credit. That’s just who they are.
Of course, those teachers don’t get to see them at home, where apparently they save all of their remaining energy for fighting with each other, ignoring their mother, and acting like complete animals.
Maybe they’re just naturally good kids. Or maybe they’re still young and I have years of teenage trouble waiting for me.
Although my right foot begs to differ.
I also know parenting matters. I grew up seeing how quickly kids can get off track when things aren’t right at home. My wife and I work together when it comes to our boys, and maybe we deserve at least a little credit for the people they’re becoming.
That’s surprisingly difficult for me to say.
Maybe that’s humility. Maybe it’s insecurity. Maybe I just spent enough years feeling like I wasn’t accomplishing much that I never learned what the hell you’re supposed to do when you finally start accomplishing some things.
Because I do appreciate the life I have. I’d also be lying if I said I sit around loving every minute of it.
There was a time in my life when I felt like the world was passing me by. Now that I’m moving, I seem determined to keep moving.
And I’m starting to wonder if that’s part of why I keep moving the goalposts.
Why Is Being Proud of Ourselves So Awkward?
A few days ago, I got invited to be on my first podcast. It was an addiction podcast, so what I write about and some of my family’s experiences made me a pretty natural fit. Still, somebody wanted to hear my story and thought it was worth putting out into the world.
I was excited. I was also nervous. I’m not sure which feeling was stronger.
Once I emailed them back and agreed to do it, I knew there was no turning back. I spent the next couple days thinking about it, worrying about what I would say and trying to prepare. When it was finally over, I was relieved and proud of myself. Naturally, I also immediately started thinking about the stories I forgot to tell and the things I could have done better.
Apparently I couldn’t just enjoy it for very long. But I noticed something else before I ever went on the podcast.
That same week, I also had my first book signing coming up. Those were two pretty cool firsts for me, and obviously I wanted to tell my friends. So I sent this to our group text:
“Got accepted to be on my first podcast and have my first book signing both this week. And I still hate my fantasy team because Bobby made me drink so much during beer pong!”
I couldn’t just tell them the first part. I had to immediately remind everyone that I was still the same idiot getting drunk playing beer pong and complaining about his fantasy team.
My friends can be brutal, but they can also show a lot of love. I don’t really think they would’ve read that message and thought I suddenly believed I was better than everyone. Still, there’s something uncomfortable to me about announcing something I’m proud of without somehow taking myself down a notch afterward.
I’m the same way when somebody compliments my book in person. This is literally what I wanted. I wrote the damn thing because I wanted people to read it. I wanted them to feel something. I hoped somebody would finish it and care enough to tell me what it meant to them.
Then they do.
And suddenly I have trouble looking them in the eyes while I thank them because I’m embarrassed by the attention.
The stupid part is that as soon as I walk away, I love every fucking second of it. I can’t wait to tell my wife what they said.
So clearly I want the praise. Apparently I just don’t know what the hell to do with it while it’s happening.
Maybe Moving the Goalposts Isn’t Always a Bad Thing
For all this talk about never being satisfied, though, there’s another side to it that I can’t ignore.
There were plenty of times when I almost quit writing Not My Brother’s Keeper.
Actually, for a while I became pretty damn good at finding reasons not to work on it. When my computer desk was upstairs, I told myself I didn’t like being away from everybody while I wrote. Then I moved everything to the basement and somehow managed to use basically the same excuse.
The location of the computer wasn’t the problem. Deep down, I knew how much work was waiting for me every time I sat in front of it.
I’ve told the story before about learning how to write again while I was writing my first novel. By the second half of the book, I had at least started figuring out what I was doing. The problem was that the first half had already been written by the guy who didn’t.
It was a nightmare. I’d fix something and realize that change affected something eight chapters later. Hours of work could disappear because I finally understood that something I’d written months earlier didn’t work anymore. I knew there was a good story buried in there somewhere. I just had to figure out how to make the beginning of the book match the writer I was slowly becoming by the end of it.
There were two things that kept pulling me back.
The biggest was my mom. Finishing that book for her was always the reason behind it, and when she got really sick for the last time and I had a pretty good idea where things were headed, I stopped screwing around and really started working on it again.
As most of you already know, I didn’t finish it in time for her to read it.
But something had changed. By then, I was past the point of no return. I was going to finish that book.
The other reason is something I don’t think I’ve ever really talked about before.
I had run my big mouth.
When I first started writing the book, I told everybody about it. I’ve learned since then that I prefer keeping projects mostly to myself until they’re finished. But in this case, running my mouth might have been one of the best things I could’ve done.
I hate lying to people, and I hate letting people down. I couldn’t stand the idea of becoming somebody who spent all that time telling everyone he was writing a book and then never actually wrote one. I didn’t want to be the guy who talked about everything he was going to do but never did any of it.
So I kept coming back. Some of that was for my mom. Some was because I believed there was a story worth saving underneath all the mistakes. And some of it was probably plain old stubbornness.
Whatever combination it was, it worked. I finished one of the most important things I’ve ever done.
I’m Not Sure I Want to Be Satisfied
If somebody offered me a switch that could make me completely satisfied with my life tomorrow, I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t tempting.
I know how much I worry. I know how much unnecessary stress I cause myself over things that probably don’t deserve it. There are definitely times when I wish I could shut my brain off, look around at everything I already have and think, This is enough. I don’t need anything else.
But I don’t think I could flip that switch. The truth is, I already have most of the qualifications necessary to become an incredibly lazy person. I love lying around doing absolutely nothing. I hate chores, especially when my wife asks me to do one before I’ve independently decided that I was eventually going to do it. I love television, even though I’ve given up watching a lot of it since I started writing.
Football obviously doesn’t count. I’m not a psychopath.
Give me unlimited food, a comfortable couch, a television and absolutely nothing expected of me, and there’s a version of my future where I become considerably larger and accomplish absolutely nothing. It sounds fantastic.
But somewhere along the way, something changed.
I spent a lot of years goofing off. I spent some of them feeling like everybody else was moving forward while I wasn’t. Now I’m at an age where I want to prove something to myself. I want to know what I can actually do if I keep showing up. I want to find out if I can write another book, reach more people, become better at this, and maybe do some pretty cool things before this whole thing is over.
Apparently that requires me to be at least a little dissatisfied. Maybe that’s why every finish line I’ve ever imagined has moved as soon as I’ve reached it. Maybe some of it is ambition. Some of it is insecurity. Some of it is competitiveness. And maybe part of me remembers what it felt like to stand still and watch everybody else keep moving.
I don’t want to go back there.
What I’m starting to realize is that maybe the goal isn’t to stop moving the goalposts. Maybe I just need to get better at looking backward every once in a while and realizing how many goals I’ve already reached.
My coworker wants to make an amount of money I once would’ve thought meant I’d made it. People are reading a book that, for a while, I wasn’t sure I’d ever finish. Someone wanted me on a podcast to hear my story. My wife and I have raised one son and are watching our two younger boys become pretty damn good people.
None of those things mean I’m finished. I don’t think I ever want to feel finished. Maybe I just need to stop acting like the things that once felt impossible stopped mattering simply because they eventually became my life.
I’m probably going to keep moving the goalposts. I’m probably going to keep worrying, stressing myself out and wondering what I could’ve done better. I’ll probably accomplish something I’ve been chasing for months and give myself about fifteen minutes before asking what’s next.
Maybe that’s just part of who I am.
I don’t know if I’m always moving in the right direction.
But it’s sure as hell better than some of my old directions.
Before You Go
If you enjoyed this article, I’d love to stay connected.
Every other Sunday, I share a new reflection about life, family, empathy, and the lessons I’m still trying to figure out. You’ll also get occasional updates about my writing and future projects.
If you’d like to come along for the journey, I’d be honored to have you.
Or, if you’d like to keep reading today, you can check out my debut novel, Not My Brother’s Keeper.
Thanks for spending a little time with me today.