The American Dream Still Exists… But It Requires the Annoying Part of actually working!

Maybe I’m just old. That’s always a possibility….. but I keep hearing people say the American Dream is dead, and every time I hear it, I think… is it? Or did we just stop wanting to do the part that makes the dream possible?

The American Dream was never, “Congratulations! You were born here. Here’s your house, your car, your healthcare, your college, and your retirement. Enjoy!” No… that’s not how this works.

The dream was always about opportunity. The chance to build something. To start with nothing and end up with something because you worked your tail off.

Somewhere along the way, it feels like we’ve started expecting the reward without the work. We complain about not having enough money, but don’t want overtime. We want the promotion without learning the job. We want success delivered like Amazon Prime.

Then I hear people say, “Healthcare should be free.” Here’s the thing… nothing is free. Somebody always pays. If the government pays, taxpayers pay. We can debate whether that’s the right approach, but calling it “free” doesn’t make it free.

And I think some people imagine that if healthcare were government-funded, it would automatically be faster, better, and available whenever you want it. I’m not convinced. Every system has trade-offs. Countries with publicly funded healthcare often have strengths, but many also deal with longer waits for some non-emergency procedures, limited provider choices, or budget constraints. There isn’t a perfect system anywhere.

The same goes for just about everything else. We all want good roads, good schools, safe communities, affordable healthcare, and opportunities for our families. The question isn’t whether those things matter. The question is who pays for them and how they’re sustained.

I’ve spent my entire adult life working. I wasn’t waiting around for someone to hand me a better life. I built one. Was it perfect? Nope. Was it exhausting? Absolutely. Was it worth it? Every single time.

The American Dream isn’t dead. It just still has the same job description it’s always had: show up, work hard, keep learning, fail sometimes, get back up, and repeat. I know… not nearly as exciting as waiting for someone else to fix everything.

Call me crazy, but I still think earning something feels a whole lot better than expecting someone else to provide it. Maybe that’s just my generation talking… but I don’t think hard work has gone out of style. I think we’ve just stopped advertising it.

This Blog Is Brought to You by ADHD and Oklahoma

​I write stupid blogs from whatever random thought my ADHD brain is having that day. I’m not the most eloquent writer, and let’s face it… my vocabulary is straight out of Oklahoma. Some of my favorite words ain't even real words.

Take “gollywopper.” I spent most of my life thinking it was that little muscle in your throat that moves when you swallow. I also thought it was responsible for making “sugars” when you wanted to kiss somebody. Apparently… none of that is true. And if your doctor asks what’s wrong, don’t tell him your gollywopper hurts unless you want him staring at you like you need a different kind of appointment with a tight jacket!

So, if you’re reading one of my blogs and thinking, “What in the world is this woman talking about?” just remember… writing is my therapy. My ADHD brain has about 47 thoughts happening at the same time, and getting them out on paper keeps them from bouncing around in my head.

Honestly, writing it all down has probably saved a life. Maybe mine, maybe my husband’s. It helps me sort through things, make sense of feelings I don’t fully understand yet, and come to terms with whatever season of life I’m in. So these silly little blogs? They’re less about writing and more about keeping my brain from exploding.

Apparently, I’m Mr. Rogers Now

​You go from watching Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood and wondering why he changed his shoes and cardigan every day to suddenly thinking, “Wait… why do I have three pairs of glasses scattered around my house?”

I swear I’ve reached the age where I need driving glasses, computer glasses, and reading glasses. I sit down at the computer and have to swap glasses like Mr. Rogers swapped shoes. Then I pick up my phone and need another pair. Then I look up to watch TV and can’t see because I still have my reading glasses on.

Getting older is wild. One day you’re singing along with Mr. Rogers, and the next day… you are Mr. Rogers. 😆

Maybe We’re All Just Winging It

I recently learned there’s a name for something I’ve felt most of my life.

Imposter syndrome.

At first, I wasn’t sure it fit. I don’t walk around pretending to be a brain surgeon or a rocket scientist. I know what I know, and I know what I don’t. If I’m being honest, there are days when I feel like people give me way more credit than I deserve. They think I’m smart. They think I’m capable. They think I know what I’m doing. And somewhere in the back of my mind is this little voice that wonders what happens when they figure out I don’t know nearly as much as they think I do.

What if they realize I’ve been making it up as I go along? What if they realize I’m just figuring things out one day at a time like everyone else? What if they realize I don’t have all the answers? The funny thing is, I’ve spent my entire life expecting someone to discover that. And nobody ever has.

I’ve raised kids, built a business, managed employees, solved problems, handled crises, and survived things I never thought I’d survive. Yet somehow my brain still likes to say, “Yeah, but anyone could have done that.”

Could they? Because when I really stop and think about it, not everyone did. Not everyone stayed when things got hard. Not everyone figured it out. Not everyone kept going when they were scared, overwhelmed, tired, or completely unsure of what to do next.

Maybe what I’ve always mistaken for not being enough is simply being human. Maybe nobody knows everything. Maybe most of us are just learning as we go. Maybe the people we admire aren’t confident because they have all the answers. Maybe they’re confident because they’ve learned they don’t need all the answers to keep moving forward. I’m still working on that lesson.

But at this age, I’m starting to suspect that nobody really has life completely figured out. Some people are just better at hiding it. The rest of us are winging it, making the best decisions we can with what we know at the time, and hoping it works out. And maybe that’s not failure. Maybe that’s life.

So if someday everyone discovers I don’t know everything, I guess they’ll be disappointed. Right after they discover nobody else does either.

Whatever Happened To Bikes?

Lately I’ve found myself asking a question I never thought I’d need to ask: When did kids stop riding bikes and start driving golf carts?

Seriously. I remember neighborhoods full of kids. They were walking to their friends’ houses, riding bicycles, playing ball in the street, building questionable forts out of scrap lumber, and generally staying outside until somebody’s mom started yelling their name from a front porch. Now I leave to run errands and find myself following a twelve-year-old driving a golf cart decorated like a Fourth of July parade float. Apparently that’s normal now.

Maybe I’m showing my age, but it seems odd that kids who aren’t old enough to have a driver’s license somehow have access to vehicle keys. They’re driving around the same streets where the rest of us are headed to work, the grocery store, doctor’s appointments, and everywhere else... and before anyone says, “Well, if you had a golf cart when your kids were young, they’d have driven it too,” you’re probably right. They absolutely would have.

That’s because kids will drive anything with wheels if you let them. But should we let them? Part of being a kid was getting places under your own power. You walked. You rode your bike. You burned off enough energy that your parents didn’t have to wonder why you were bouncing off the walls at bedtime.

The other thing that worries me is that driving a golf cart around a neighborhood can create a false sense of confidence. When you’ve spent years cruising around at fifteen miles an hour while everybody watches out for you, it’s easy to think you’ve mastered driving.

Then one day you’re handed the keys to an actual car and discover traffic has considerably less patience than Mrs. Johnson and her poodle. Maybe I’m overthinking it. Maybe this is just another one of those moments where I realize the world changed while I wasn’t paying attention. But I still think it’s strange that the kids have vehicles. The golf carts have cup holders. And the bicycles are sitting in the garage wondering what happened.