Welcome to Cheaper Than Therapy, a healing newsletter for 80s babies by Shani Silver. This newsletter does not publish free content, but if you’d like to read it you can subscribe here. Thank you for enjoying the work of independent writers.
Was it day one? Kindergarten? Was that the day I learned to pursue, strive, achieve? I want to know when they got me. When did I learn that my only purpose is a future state of me? At some point the message became clear that someday’s achievements mattered more than today’s realties and I’m trying to calculate how long I’ve been striving for something. I’m bad at math, but I think it’s forever. I’ve never not been chasing major life goals, and to look around and realize I haven’t caught any of them is a wild kick in the teeth, I assure you.
All of it. The glowing, brag-worthy professional success, the triumphant romantic partner reveal, the feature on some massive podcast that leads to the book deal/book tour/best seller list, an adorable image of me and my partner dangling the keys to our new house, the wedding photos posted every fucking anniversary, the dual income and split expenses that mean I can travel more than once every two years and I don’t still live paycheck to paycheck, everything that I wanted—and have actually seen countless people around me acquire by the way—I haven’t achieved any of it, and I will be 42 years old in 10 days. Everything, literally everything I was supposed to chase, none of it is mine. And I genuinely don’t give a shit.