I’m Grateful But I Still Want More

On loving your life and still expanding it

Photo by George Bakos on Unsplash

I’ve always been drawn to ampersands—the “&” symbol. I even have one tattooed on my inner ankle. Because the “&” doesn’t end the sentence. It keeps it going.

I think that’s why it’s always stuck with me.

I love my life. I am incredibly blessed on too many margins to count.

And I still want more.

Both things can be true.

My life is objectively good. No, it’s amazing. Great career. Wonderful marriage. Healthy kids. A full life, by any measure.

And still, I feel that pull.

I want more.

Not in a “blow up my life” way. Just in a “keep pushing my boundaries” way. More fun. More joy. More excitement. More desire.

Sometimes “more” is small: it’s making time to see friends after a long week—because a bottle of wine (or two) and a lot of laughter fills you up more than an extra hour of sleep.

And sometimes “more” is bigger: a trip. A new hobby. A new job.

We’re told to be happy with what we have. To be grateful.

I am. I even keep a gratitude journal on my nightstand (that I fill out… occasionally).

But gratitude isn’t the finish line. I used to think gratitude was a limit. That there was only so much good fortune you were allowed—and once you had a good life, that was it. Be grateful. Be quiet.

Wanting more felt like asking too much. Unseemly. Unladylike.

I know better now.

I can honor what I have and still want more.

It’s not dissatisfaction. It’s expansion.

It’s deciding to keep reaching for what I want. Sometimes small changes. Sometimes big ones.

And I’m not asking anyone for permission.

In midlife, we’re supposed to be grateful. To slow down. To age gracefully.

I’m not interested in slowing down.

This past week, I went out with friends three times. Which is a lot. For most people—and honestly, for me too.

On the third night, my 10-year-old daughter rolled her eyes as I waited for my friends to pick me up. “You’re going out again, Mom? Don’t you like spending time with your kids?”

At 10, she really has a way with words. And a talent for twisting the knife.

I gave her a hug and reminded her that I loved her (and her sister, and their dad).

And then I said, “It’s important to me that I spend time with my friends, just like it’s important to you that you spend time with yours.”

I’d like to say she accepted that with grace and acknowledged how wise her mother was. But I’m pretty sure I just got another pre-teen eye roll.

Still, it matters that she sees her mother with a full life.

My daughters are tiny versions of me. And I have a feeling they’re going to spend their lives reaching for more. I’m showing them now that they don’t have to apologize for that. That they can want more, and go get it.

And maybe one day, when they’re older, they’ll want matching mother-daughter “&” tattoos.

I hope they never stop wanting more.