So we all know I have a niece.
And she just turned 12.
TWELVE.
She still needs a permission slip for field trips and I’m over here like, “So what are we thinking? Dermatologist? Tech girly? Something with benefits, dental, and a cute little 401(k) match?”
Before you sprint to the comments — I tell her all the time, “You don’t have to decide right now. You are literally a child.”
And I mean it.
She doesn’t have to know at 16.
She doesn’t even have to know at 18.
But at 18? Baby. You will be enrolled somewhere. A college of your choosing. Community, state, international— I do not care. Just pick a campus and a direction.
Do I sound dramatic? Yes.
Am I? Also yes.
But here’s the tea.
I don’t want her to have my life.
Now listen — I’m content. I laugh. I love. I have my little joys. I am not sitting in a dark room spiraling 24/7. That’s what the internet is for.
But do I have regrets?
Oh, absolutely.
Mostly that I didn’t go to school younger. Because some mornings I wake up, stare at the ceiling, and think, “I’m almost 30… what am I doing?” Why am I looking at student loans at the same age other people are trying to buy homes?
I don’t want her to know what it feels like to live paycheck to paycheck. I want her to buy a house, not rent. I want her to buy a new car because she wants it — not because her old one died at a red light and took her dignity with it.
A three-day vacation should not feel like financial Russian roulette.
I tell her all this and she goes, “Okay.” Then immediately returns to middle school drama.
Which — fair. She’s 12. Her biggest stress should be who unfollowed who, not the housing market.
I don’t have the degree. I don’t have the certificates. I don’t have the salary that makes trips feel casual.
What I do have? Lived experience. Overdraft fees. And clarity.
Clarity will humble you.
Because on the bad days, depression whispers, “You’re never going to afford the life you want.”
And I want things. I want to take a train from California to Seattle and just watch the coastline blur into trees. I want to drive all of Route 66 with snacks in the passenger seat and nowhere to be. I want to go to New York and be a full tourist. Statue selfies. Overpriced coffee. Bad pizza opinions.
I see my friends doing it and I’m like, “How?”
Yes, budgeting.
But also degrees. Certifications. Jobs that pay enough to budget in the first place.
So yeah, I push her.
Not because I think I’m a failure. Not because my life is tragic.
But because I want her to have choices.
One day she’ll understand that when I ask, “What are you going to be?” I’m not talking about status. I’m talking about security.
I want her to wake up at 30 and not feel behind. I want her to book random trips without checking her bank account first. I want her to struggle with success problems, not survival ones.
If she were my kid, she’d get the same speech.
Soft life. Stable income. Options.
That’s the vibe.
