Growing up in small-town Minnesota in the 60s, life's meaning seemed straightforward – get educated, find a steady job, start a family, maybe even get that picket fence house. Our generation had a roadmap laid out for us.
But life has a way of messing with your plans. When I was young, I thought my purpose was to be a success story, chasing that American Dream. Raising kids and experiencing heartbreaks changed my perspective. Success stopped being about material things or career status.
Now, it's simpler. Life's meaning is in those late-night chats with my adult children, laughing until it hurts. It's seeing my grandkids finger paint with a wonder you can't recreate as a grown-up. It's finding peace in a quiet moment in the garden.
I went from chasing some grand meaning to finding it in the little things, in connections. It's not as flashy as my youthful ambitions, but it's richer, truer, and way more fulfilling. Funny how you can spend a lifetime figuring things out, and sometimes it's as simple as waking up grateful to be in this messy, beautiful world.