Introduction

As I sit at the front desk, I think about the potential of my life. Here I am, 23-years-old, a graduate from Boston University, and still unemployed full-time. I work at a bed & breakfast in Boston -- a great gig when I was a student and needed time to finish homework, but not so great now that I need to make a living. Part-time hours and no benefits won't get me to the top.

But to the top of what? All my life I've heard people talk about motivation, success, luxury, competition, and leadership. I don't want to be the CEO of some Fortune 500 company. I don't even want to be an accountant there. I want to live a simple life; a stable job, family, and laughter is all I need. Yet society says that is not enough.

Why is money so important? Why does it dictate the rules of life? The saying "money can't buy happiness" no longer stands as an exact truth in our society. It may be true that money isn't needed to find love and family and therefore happiness, but once those bills for the mortgage and electricity and heat and insurance and gas show up at the bottom of the mail pile on your counter, stress overcomes your ability to notice the good. At least you're worry-free if you're making a decent wage and investing in a certain amount of luxury.

I could argue that my job as a member of the front desk staff at an eight-bedroom bed & breakfast is the best position anyone could ask for. I talk to people and make sure they are satisfied with their stay in Boston; that's it. I could argue that I have the best family in the world despite the occasional conflicts. I could argue that I have the best boyfriend a girl could hope for even though we don't have the money to fly to Fiji and plan romantic dates. (Sorry -- just finished watching The Bachelorette.)

But the effects of sources of happiness end when worry begins. How will I get a job? How will I save up enough to move out of my parents house? When do I get my happily ever after?

When I was 13-years-old, I thought my dream job was to become a choreographer. Dance was my life. When I was 17-years-old, I wanted to own my own bakery. Baking was my life. Around my junior year of college, I thought my dream job was to be a sportswriter. Sports were my life. Now I'm not sure. I'm still answering the question: "What do I want to be when I grow up?" Society says that's wrong. Right out of college you need a job and your own house and to start a family and work, work, work until you collapse. Just to make money to pay the bills.

I want to be happy and comfortable. Having an amazing boyfriend and an equally amazing family should be enough. If not, it's Shark Week, the Red Sox are playing the Yankees, and I'm winning five out of six games of Words with Friends. But I'm sitting here, writing a blog post at the front desk with the television tuned to the game, speaking amicably to the guests passing by, and I'm told that it's not enough.

It's the little things that make you happy, and the little things should be enough. That is why I started up another blog -- maybe writing about the little things in life will remind myself and others about what can make us truly happy.