When I was a kid, 26 seemed far away in the land of mythical “adulthood”. I imagined I’d have everything figured out, never feel embarrassed, and probably be a marine biologist swimming with a friendly beluga somewhere. I’d have children of my own, I guessed. And a fancy savings account with lots of zeroes. Also as many dogs as I was legally allowed to own (yeah, even tiny-me knew there were city restrictions on pets).
Now that it’s actually here, 26 looks a far cry from my childhood fantasies… no arctic marine friends, definitely no pregnancies… though in other ways this life is a better fit than I maybe had the creativity to dream. Here’s what I think Little Me was right and wrong about.
Core themes I’ve carried through
It seems some parts of our personalities really are there from the beginning and until the end. Perhaps that’s presumptuous to say when I’m (hopefully) only a quarter of my way through life, but these things have been with me the whole journey.
I love creatures!!
When I spent a summer at an elephant sanctuary in Thailand after graduating college, I made a list of “key things I’ve learned” in the front of my journal. The first was that I really, truly, deeply love animals.
This is one of those rare things I’ve known since I can remember knowing anything at all that has never been shaken. The precise way that I love creatures has shifted, of course — I like to think I know far more about them now, that my admiration is increasingly tempered with reason and intention — but I have only ever always been an animal person. Only ever always will be.
Connection intimacy over quantity
I used to think that loving creatures meant I’d be surrounded by as many of them as physically possible, at all times, but a different core thread won out here: I like depth. Call it introversion, call it “being an old soul”, or call it annoying and pretentious, but I’ve long preferred having one or two friends over finding myself in the center (or even on the outskirts) of a large posse. At one point this sentiment applied mostly to my human relationships, but I’ve realized it underscores my best non-human animal connections too.
Instead of living on a hobby farm with creatures everywhere — something that does still sound pretty fun, make no mistake — I’m thrilled to have a single unshakeable connection with a very special, sensitive dog. Who knows precisely what my animal-encountering life will look like as time goes on, but for now I can’t imagine spreading myself as thin as I once dreamed.
Not to mention that living in a van, I encounter fewer people day in and day out than ever before. And I am honestly very pleased with that 😂
Write write write write
Perhaps most obviously, maybe even more so than being an animal person: I am still a writer. Far more a writer today than when I was small (although I’m hesitant to place objective value judgments on the quality of our words at any given point).
In elementary school, mandatory journaling time was my favorite part of each week. In middle school study hall, I’d get in trouble for “writing notes” instead of working on math problems (part of me would quite like to find that aide and show her what I do for a living today). The literary magazine was arguably my best high school memory. While the way I write has continued to evolve — sometimes I bleed bad poetry, sometimes my phone notes are overrun with lengthy circular diary entries, I craft content for actual real-life clients now — I can’t imagine a world where sharing words isn’t the core of my identity.
Surface-level assumptions I’ve questioned more deeply
Little Haley dreamed big, I thought, but she also dreamed pretty squarely within the predetermined framework handed to her by surrounding adult figures. Her fantasies were all in the context of a “normal” or fairly “traditional” life: Like having a cool job but still working typical hours.
In recent years I’ve shed a lot of those initial expectations, largely thanks to Sean and his annoying (though also very endearing) habit of asking “why” over and over until I finally realized whether or not I actually had an answer. (I see the irony that small children are often the ones most notorious for that questioning pattern.)
Why do I want a traditional career? (Answer: I really don’t)
If I had to work — something I knew was inevitable from a young age, like all kids who are inundated with inquiries about what they want to be when they grow up (which really means what they want to do to make money) — I wanted to work with animals.
Marine biologist was the dream of choice. There’s still a huge part of me that thinks researching ocean creatures would be incredible — just over a week ago I nearly peed myself squealing over the wild orcas we got to see from our Kenai Fjords boat tour! — but I’ve largely bucked the idea that I need a traditional career of any sort. Yes, I need to have income. Yes, I want to consider how I’m making an impact and whether existing avenues would be the right approach for the sort of reach I’d like to have. But no, there’s no reason I need to be working my way up in some straightforward trajectory.
Today I could not be happier with what I do for a living: I write. About animals, mostly, and emotions, and sometimes “life in general” (which I suppose is how I’d categorize this piece). My circle of influence is admittedly rather small, but it’s fulfilling — and rather than living my life on weekends or prescribed vacation periods in between bouts of draining work everything blends together into a general existence I’m lucky enough to enjoy. Isn’t that the ultimate promotion?!
Why do I want to have kids? (Answer: I really don’t)
Growing up, I joked that I didn’t want to have children at first because I thought sex sounded gross and then because the act of giving birth made me squeamish. But underneath my cheeky lists of “see Mom, look at all these reasons not to have kids” I always figured that I would, indeed, end up being a mother. It’s just what you did. You met someone (probably in high school in my small-ish town that straddled many lines between tiny Wisconsin traditions and larger scale opportunities), you fell in love, you got married, and you had babies.
When I first met Sean I still thought that I wanted kids in this way. When he asked me why, I was a bit dumbfounded — I’d never properly considered the question. And once I did think about it, I realized that I actually didn’t want to be a mother at all.
This is something we’ve talked and thought, and I’ve written, about a lot since. This podcast episode is probably my favorite discussion since it allows for in-the-moment tone and inflection to actually come across.
What does success really look like? (Answer: Different things to different people)
All the childhood ideas that have changed now that I’m in my mid-20s ultimately center around the same question: What does it really mean to be successful?
This is the biggest thing that Adult Me contemplates much more intentionally than Little Me was ever able. Who defines what’s worth pursuing? Why is X, Y, or Z thing good? It’s a very ambiguous world since I’ve stopped blindly accepting many of the things I’m told — but a much more joyful one, too. I hope I never again get complacent about these wonderings.
