Chapter 1 Podcast Episode #1 Define Success on Your Own Terms #2
“I’m sorry.” A spot of dampness was beginning to soak through the back of Gwin’s pale blue jumpsuit.
“I just . . .” She sighed. “It’s been a long day spent with kids we call adults who don’t want to think for themselves.
This afternoon I actually had a student ask me why she had to write a research paper when Google has all the answers. ”
Molly wiped the sweat beading on her upper lip. “That’s disturbing. I get it. But if you weren’t in the middle of an existential
crisis, would you like it?”
“It’ll grab attention,” she said at last.
“It will?” Now Molly wasn’t sure whether to believe her. “Because I was never going for ‘literary masterpiece.’ As long as
it catches the interest of the right people, I’m golden.”
A mixed shepherd, tongue lolling, jerked on his leash, trying to sniff them before being redirected by his owner. “I think
it’ll serve that purpose,” Gwin said, the dog’s toenails clicking on the concrete as owner and pet hurried on.
There was still a measure of hesitancy in her voice. Molly watched her suspiciously as they started walking again. “But . . .”
“Can you really tell people to ditch their nine-to-five, along with their health care benefits and 401K company match and
chase their dreams?”
“I never said people don’t have to work. I’m just releasing them from society’s expectations, telling them to live according
to their own values. ‘Forget society’s scorecard—build a life that gives your insides a standing ovation,’ right? I’m telling
them to trust their instincts and reach for the stars.”
“Really? Because sometimes it sounds like you’re giving them a license to do whatever they want.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Nowadays young people think they have to have everything in order to be fulfilled, and I believe that’s setting them up for
disappointment. Life doesn’t owe anybody anything, even a rewarding career.”
Molly tried to peer into her cousin’s face as they continued to walk. “Is this still about me? Because it’s starting to sound like it’s more about you. Don’t you like your job anymore?”
“I love my job! On most days,” she hedged. “Maybe not this day. But chasing ‘experiences’ over stability could leave people with nothing beyond a TikTok highlight reel in thirty years.”
“At least memories are nontaxable assets—unlike my loft,” Molly quipped, trying to lighten things up.
Gwin rolled her eyes. “But if you don’t pay into Social Security, you won’t get much out.”
“Who knows if that’ll even be around by the time we get there?” Molly asked. “Anyway, why don’t you be my first podcast guest?
Opposing viewpoints will only make it more interesting. You can tell everyone how our mothers walked to school uphill and
in the snow both directions and are stronger for it. And I’ll tell them how they lived with so much fear they tried to force
us into ‘safe’ paths, whether it made us happy or not.”
“They thought they were doing the right thing,” she said, somewhat defensively.
“That doesn’t mean we should let them dictate our lives.”
“Whether our lives will turn out better or worse for not listening to them remains to be seen,” she pointed out. “Anyway,
I’m a professor. My mother isn’t disappointed with my career.”
Molly’s was. When Molly tried to explain what an influencer was, her mother had scowled and said, “You get paid for telling
people to go to Bali?”
Until Molly had published a book, and it became a huge success, her mother was always harping on how Molly should “apply”
herself.
But Molly didn’t want to think about her mother. She’d spent years chasing the gold star of Eloise’s approval but could never
conform enough to earn it. “Your mother wanted you to become a doctor,” she pointed out.
Gwin arched her eyebrows. “Because I’m such a caring individual.”
“You faint at the sight of blood. And my mother wanted me to become an attorney, like her, even though I can’t think of anything more soul sucking than spending all day drawing up
wills and trusts and talking to people about dying.”
“Your mother has done well for herself. Gave you everything you needed, even helped my mom after my dad walked out.”
Gwin’s dad had walked out when Gwin was only eight, so neither one of them had grown up with a father. Molly’s had already
been married when he and her mother were dating—not that her mother knew it. Fortunately, she found out before she learned
about the pregnancy, broke off the relationship and never told him she was expecting a baby. She said he didn’t deserve to
know, that she didn’t want someone like him in their lives—and in true Eloise style, once she made up her mind, she never
wavered. “Money isn’t everything,” Molly grumbled.
“It is if you don’t have enough,” Gwin pointed out.
“Careful—you’re starting to sound like my mother.”
“I guess I am.”
They turned onto the cobblestones of Great Jones Street. “If it makes you feel any better, I have a whole podcast focused
on financial literacy,” Molly said. “I just haven’t sent you that summary yet.”
“I think your heart’s in the right place.
You want people to be happy, and chasing their dreams is more likely to make them happy than working in a cubicle.
But what about those who launch out on faith alone and belly flop into reality?
What if a woman takes your advice and sets out to become an actress but she’s not the next Meryl Streep?
Or she can’t get the breaks she needs? What if she doesn’t marry or start a family because she’s so busy chasing this pipe dream?
Or she passes up a good job, where she would’ve made enough to carry her through life?
I wouldn’t want to see someone like that posting #YOLO regrets from her mother’s basement in thirty years. ”
“Everyone’s got to figure out their own way. I’m just trying to share a different perspective—one that might help them breathe
a little easier. How bad can that be? Trusting my inner voice worked for me. But there is no one answer for everyone. I can
give people some good starting points, but the real magic happens when they figure out what works best for them personally.”
“Okay,” she said with a note of finality, but Molly could tell she hadn’t exactly won the argument. That one-word response
had sounded more like “whatever.” Gwin remained at least partially unconvinced.
“That’s it?” she said. “You’re leaving it right there?”
They’d reached Molly’s cast iron building. Gwin scrunched her nose as she peered up and down the street, where there were
chic boutiques, the Engine Co. #33 Firehouse and famous artist Jean-Michel Basquiat’s former loft—now a graffiti shrine. But
Molly knew her cousin wasn’t really seeing any of those things. She was deep in the well of her own thoughts. “I guess clinging
to safety isn’t always best, but taking too many risks can be a problem, too. There is no one-size-fits-all answer, as you
say.”
Molly checked her watch. “We still going for drinks later?”
Gwin dug out her phone. “Silas hasn’t confirmed. What about Oscar? Have you heard from him?”
Molly glanced at her texts. “Not yet.”
“I’ll let you know.”
Molly waved, but still felt slightly out of sync as she went up to her loft. Was her advice misleading? Could it cause more
harm than good?
She’d often heard that authors and artists saw life in shades of gray, not black and white. That was where the best stories and paintings came from—the messy spaces where people’s contradictions collided, and nothing was simple or perfectly true. But when it came to telling others how to live . . .
She didn’t want to be responsible for hurting anyone.
With a sigh, she put her computer bag on the marble-topped island. Her place wasn’t large, only twelve hundred square feet,
but it was überfunctional. With one large open space for the living room, dining room and kitchen, it had a single bedroom
and bathroom sectioned off with a partition, high ceilings, plank flooring and exposed brick.
She loved it all, but it was the office on the mezzanine that really set it apart—along with the oversize windows. In the
1850s to 1880s, it was popular to build with cast iron in New York. These buildings had the same columns, arches and scrollwork
many stone buildings did but were much stronger, which was why the windows could be so big.
For years, she’d longed to live in Greenwich Village or NoHo, but it was only nine months ago that she’d been able to buy
her own place.
An Instagram DM came in. Expecting it to be someone she’d reached out to, offering a collaboration, Molly froze when she read
the message.
I’m sorry to bother you, but I have some information you should know, and I’m guessing it’ll be very hard to hear.
Molly was staring at it, too shocked to do anything, when another message came from the same number.
The man you’re dating isn’t who he says he is.