Page 5 of Unconventionally, Elle
"Yes, a mimosa." She emphasized the ending a little too much, and I could tell it probably wasn't her first. "Do you realize I haven't been able to do this in years? Like, actual years! Get up, grouch, we have the whole day in front of us." She walked over to my bed, threw off my blankets, and tossed a pillow at my head. I curled into the fetal position, cozy in my brand-new satin pajamas, and let the pillow hit my side.
"Just a few more minutes," I whined.
She didn't give in. "Get up! C'mon, Rach is already changing to meet us." Sarah turned toward my door, flipped the light on, and stumbled ever so slightly out of my room.
"I guess kids train you to wake up before civilization!" I yelled back at her through the glass as she walked onto the porch and slid the door closed behind her. I grabbed for my blankets again, but she'd thrown them on the floor--too smart. At this point, I was questioning why the heck I'd let them convince me we should all have adjoining rooms.
I admitted defeat and rolled lazily out of bed. A breeze drifted through my open window and brushed against my face like a soft kiss. The saltiness in the air rested on my tongue, and I swore I could taste vacation.
Rachel joined us on the beach within thirty minutes of Sarah's morning show. We spread our towels out side by side, just like we used to in college for spring break: Rachel, me, and Sarah. I missed those days every day.
Rachel and I had always been closest. She was my confidant, my first best friend away from New York. We both wanted to grow up to be journalists and rule the literary world, then life happened. Now she was a PR executive and I was a successful businesswoman, or so it would seem. I kept questioning the definition ofsuccessever since Tina, my therapist, had asked me about it. I finally figured that after days of dwelling on it, I had absolutely no idea, and I needed to ask the girls what they thought.
Success isn't making the money; it's making the man while he makes the money, Grandpa told me over the phone one time shortly before he passed. I didn't realize at the time that it would be one of the few conversations we had left, and I still wasn't quite sure what he'd meant by that. Of course success was money, it had to be. Right?
It's weird how life works out; you believe in your audacious dreams, and then you end up ignoring them completely because you believe someone you love and admire knows better. I remember telling my grandparents I wanted to be a writer.I could see the sparkle in my grandmother's eyes, but just as quickly as it came, it disappeared. Not many knew that becoming a writer was her abandoned dream.
My grandparents were proud of me for getting dual degrees, including one in journalism, but at the end of the day, they'd told me to earn a secure job that paid well. Making a lot of money was success in their eyes, especially as the silent generation. More money meant more stability and less hardship. Being a writer was too risky, so I pursued a job with my business degree after graduation. I didn't want to disappoint my grandparents, but sometimes I wondered if I'd disappointed my grandmother regardless. And myself. My grandfather would remind me whenever he talked to me:Go corporate, Elle. You need a nine-to-five career, Elle. Writers are poor, Elle. Be successful, Elle. You need to be successful.No pressure at all. Rachel was told the same thing by her family, but public relations suited her. She really enjoyed the grind and the hustle.
Thirty minutes into tanning on the beach, I could feel sweat dripping down my chest and tried to convince myself to put away my phone and take a dip in the ocean for a second. Rachel flipped onto her back and looked over at me. I was still on my phone refreshing my email for the millionth time, looking for anything from Anna. You know, just in case she needed my help. But there was nothing. Anna really was qualified and hardworking enough to handle things while I was gone, but letting go was hard.
"Elle, what are you doing? We're on vacation, remember? If I can put it away for a few hours, I know you can, right?" She pulled her sunglasses down to stare at me.
"I know, I know. It's just this big account I've been trying to nail down for months. It comes up in July, and we are in the heart of getting it all together right now. But you're right, okay.I'm putting it down." I turned it off--seriously, all the way off--and showed her the proof.
She nodded in approval and rested back on her beach towel with her long tan arms by her side. Her black hair was pulled up into a high bun and her face was lathered in SPF 50. I readjusted my sunglasses and tapped Rach on the shoulder.
"Hey, can we share? I don't want to turn my phone back on." I smiled sheepishly, pointing to her headphones. "And I forgot to pack my Bluetooth speaker for us."
She smiled back and passed over her left headphone. Sarah was sleeping on her stomach on my other side, and it was impossible for me not to giggle every time she snored.
We sat side by side, just like the old days at the pool in college. Rachel's playlists were always the best, and while the sun warmed my body and the sand pressed between my toes, I let my eyes rest.
I had my eyes closed, but I couldn't keep my mind from racing. Work was work; life was life. I had everything I thought I wanted, but I was miserable. I knew I was missing something. Was I where I wanted to be at this point in my life? I really thought so, but I couldn't help but notice this trapped, anxious feeling when I thought about who I was meant to be.Who the hell am I?
I opened my eyes and pulled the headphone out of my ear. The music stopped and I looked over at Rachel. She looked back, confused.
"Rach, what does it mean to be successful? Have you ever really thought about it?" I asked while shuffling my feet in the sand. The sun felt magical and comforting. Sarah was still sleeping, and I'd have to wake her up soon so she didn't burn to a crisp.
"Girl, if I knew, I'd tell you." She sat up and took a sip of her margarita. "I think it's different for everyone, and it's a personaljourney to see what it is for you. But I think if you're living your life how you want to, isn't that successful? I mean, money helps, though."
"Yeah, I guess." I took a deep breath and thought about what she'd said. I didn't feel like I was living my life how I wanted to, but I didn't know how to do that either.
"I also don't think it's one thing in particular, right?" she said. "Like, just because you have money doesn't always mean you're happy. And I heard once, if you don't have your health, do you really have anything at all?" She readjusted her bun and lay back down on her towel.
"Do you think you've found success?" I asked.
She was quiet for a moment, and I could see her thinking about it. "I think so," she finally said. "I really enjoy my job, the hustle, and of course, I'm comfortable with my income and my relationship with Josh. In fact, I'm hoping he'll propose soon." She smiled and wiggled her eyebrows. I chuckled and she continued. "But to answer your question, yeah, I do think I've found it. What about you?"
"Not really." My answer fell out of my mouth, and I felt startled by my lack of filter. Rachel went silent, and I felt embarrassed, so I backtracked. "I mean, I don't know. Maybe."
She nodded and gave me a small smile. Fuck, I didn't want pity--that was her pity look. "I know I'm not supposed to feel this way," I said after she stayed silent.
Her headphone was in her hand, and she sat up and crossed her legs to face me.
"Elle, you can feel however you want to feel. It's not crazy. If you're not happy, what are you thinking about doing?"
I shrugged and closed my eyes. "I don't know." It was barely over a whisper.
