A small life

I don't want to be a princess

This essay works as a sister-piece to Places we drive past. I originally tried merging them together as they touch on similar topics, but thought they worked better separately.

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1.

When I was a kid, I remember saying to my mom: “It must be SO fun to be an actual princess!! Wouldn’t you want to be one?”

Now, I don’t remember exactly what she answered, but I think it was something along the lines of: “No, and it wouldn’t be anywhere near as fun as you think. A role like that involves a lot of responsibility and pressure—you can’t do or say whatever you want. There is much more happiness to be found in a completely ordinary life.”

For some reason, that last sentence always stuck with me.

I think what younger me primarily thought about were the castles, dresses, and balls. But I also know a part of her thought about being important. That kings and queens were written into the history books she read at school. That from the day they were born, a whole country cared about them—and centuries later, some kid (me) would have to practice writing their name for a test.

Since then, I have realised how much freedom there is in not being famous; in not needing to contort yourself to fit an image; in no one dissecting your every move or taking paparazzi pictures of you while you’re out getting ice cream with a friend. I believe that’s what my mom was getting at.

It is quite liberating to think that no one will know what I said or did 300 years from now. It brings life into perspective—makes me think: what am I so nervous for? Why am I holding back? I can just do things.

My issue is just that I want to be remembered.

2.

I think a lot of us feel like we shouldn't “settle” for a small life. That we should at least try to become something more—something successful.

But really, what makes a life successful?

Is it measured in how much you built and how many people know your name? In the number in your bank account or title on your door? What about an afternoon swim, a walk in the rain, or petting the neighbourhood cat when it runs over to greet you—is that time well spent? Are you wasting your life baking cinnamon buns with your brother on a random Tuesday just because it’s not productive, just because it doesn’t “get you anywhere”?

I think the point of life is to enjoy it: to find some purpose, to work on things that matter to you, to explore, to love, to feel the wind on your face, and help others as best as you can. It does not matter how big or small that is.

And this is not to say you shouldn’t try to achieve your wildest dreams—of course you should! If there are things you want to do—do them. If you feel like you are meant for something grand—please go for it. It’s incredibly fun to work towards a specific goal; to experiment with what life may bring if you give it a chance. We need both those who want to win a Nobel Prize and those who want to pour concrete.

My point is just that it’s okay to not go down in history or win a Golden Globe. Life will still be awesome. An ordinary life spent with people you love is a win.

Besides, it’s pretty great here in the small and mundane. There are picnics in the park, silly shows to watch, weekly crossword puzzles, tomatoes growing in the window sill. You help your mom hang curtains she bought on sale, twist your brain thinking of something new to make for dinner, eat Toro brownies at a birthday party where you all talk too loudly and laugh even louder.

A small life is not small in value.

3.

I watched the Ibelin movie a while ago and one quote hit me particularly: “I don’t want to die without having mattered to someone.”

You can matter but not be remembered, and you can be remembered without really having mattered. And even though a combination of the two would be ideal, I realise I would prefer the former to the latter.

Yes, I would love to leave some sort of legacy. But no matter how I try to twist and turn it, I have already made a mark. I have caused ripples and changed trajectories, helped out and made people feel loved. I have contributed to important conversations, built foundations, captured moments, dug the soil, and planted trees that will outlive me.

We matter more than we think.

At the end of the day, I’d rather measure the success of my life in how many smiles I made appear on others, than in acres of property. Do I want a comfortable life?—absolutely. But hours spent with loved ones, good friendships, belly laughs, and deep, present breaths are more important than my name in the newspaper.

Contentment is more important than fame.

Besides, if a princess can’t look like a scarecrow on a walk around the block, or sing karaoke badly at the local bar without ending up in a gossip magazine, then I don’t want to be one.

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