Is Chasing Success Considered Exercise?

    Most of you know that I was raised by nomadic Southern Baptists, moving on the average of every two years during my formative years, broken down into – 10 cities, 19 houses, 11 schools. At 24, when I became financially independent (and I use that term loosely), the genetics took over and I began my own itinerant lifestyle, averaging a move every 18 months, broken down into 16 cities, 24 houses and 20 jobs over the last 18 years. Admittedly, that is a lot.

    My younger self was never brave enough to ask my parents if we were running away from or after something. As an adult, I have been chasing several things. At first it was acceptance by others, then it was respect, job security, money, self-acceptance, and love. I believed that with all these things, I would achieve happiness. I was never content, even when I relatively quickly achieved my career goals. There was always an underlying sense of anxiety, as if stasis was deadly.

    ‘Success is kinetic’ is the mantra that kept me on the move. Until now.

    I’m 52 and for the first time I have just about everything I’ve ever wanted and it’s…disconcerting.

    I moved to Long Beach a little over eight years ago. I love it here, as does my husband. Side note: can I tell you I never thought I’d have a husband? We have no plans to leave. I’ve never lived anywhere for this long. In true Dusty fashion, I have had three apartments and two jobs, but at the same hospital and in the same city.

    When The Dad lived with me in the Bay Area, his dog Lulu loved chasing squirrels in our yard. She would bark and run after them like they had just robbed our house. But squirrels are typically fast, and they always ran up a tree before she caught them. However, one day Lulu actually caught one. I don’t know if this particular squirrel was old or sick, but their chase ended up with Lulu’s mouth around its neck. Both froze, like they didn’t know what to do. I was surprised and stared at them. After a pause, Lulu gingerly opened her mouth and ran back to me, confused. She looked at me as if to say, ‘What do I do now?

    I'm asking myself that same question. What’s a chaser to do, when there’s nothing left to chase?

    With that in mind, I took an inventory and discovered the only thing I don’t have is a literary agent for my recently completed memoir. That and a thin, muscular physique. 

    Finding an agent seems more likely. 

    Let the chase begin.