Why I decided to stop feeling like a failure

As I approached the age of 16, I was one of those rarities who was not looking forward to driving. I wasn’t scared. I just didn’t want to drive. I was convinced that I would never need a license because I was going to live the metropolitan dream: riding buses, walking to the grocery store, taking the metro, and getting a cab when I really needed to get somewhere. As a result, I didn’t agree to pursue my license until my senior year of high school and my 18^th year on the planet.

Having waited so long to get my license, I never really found myself in a position to buy a car. We moved after I graduate. I was always trying to go overseas, and my on campus job barely supported on campus costs. I worked in upstate New York every summer. Timing was never right, so now I find myself at age 22 without a car.

This might not seem like a big deal, but some days it really feels like it is. When I want to go somewhere, I have to ask my parents for the keys, which they graciously give me every time. If I ever go in for an interview, I’m always afraid they’ll ask about reliable transportation and I’ll have to admit I usually drive a gold minivan. It just doesn’t feel “grown up.” Who wants to hire a dependent?

It would be easy for me to feel like a failure at this point in my life. I am 22 years old with no steady job or college degree. Having lived in my current community only two months, I still live anonymously. I recently left a job out West to live with my parents back East. And let’s top it off with: I have never had a serious relationship. Feel free to agree with me when I say, things look a bit bleak.

Counter to popular belief, failure is most often defined by circumstance instead of a single action.  People might fail a test, but if you’re twenty something and living in your parents basement playing video games all day, most social circles would label you a failure. I used to feel like that was my path and that I might as well run out onto the beach on a stormy night and yell up into the sky, “I’ve failed! I’ve failed! I’ve failed!” A bit melodramatic perhaps, but that’s what packing up a life every three months does to a person.

Now let me assure you that I have no intention of living out a death wish to be struck by lightning. Instead of gloomily staring at myself in the mirror for hours wondering why I haven’t risen to some sort of greatness, I intend to be patient.  Well, how does that make sense?

I’ve come to realize that in the bigger scheme of things I can look back at my life and realize that I have no regrets. All of the decisions I have made to this point have been purposeful, prayerful, deliberative, and intentional. I have not failed. I have learned.

I don’t have a job, but I wouldn’t give up my time of soul searching for anything. While I pined for the city, I fell in love with a small town. While I lived in the mountains, I learned to stand up for myself and make hard decisions. I don’t have a car, but that hasn’t stopped me from making connections in almost every part of this country. The friends I have all over the country tie my life together, and my community is bigger than a single zip code. And as far as relationships, the time I’ve had to grow has built me into a stronger woman that won’t settle for just anybody, if I even need to settle.

Instead of seeing the perceived failures in my life, I can see the foundation that has been built under me and the construction following me as I go. It’s a process to become something. Though it often hurts, pain should never stop perseverance.

So while I patiently and proactively live out the coming months, I will continue to hear a stoic chant in the background: “Something is coming. “