I dream of a modest house,
With furniture made to live in.
A scratched-up dining table,
Nights of board games and meals
Engraved in the woodwork.
A couch with two gaping imprints
From our nights spent in the cushions,
Crumbs and too many empty bottles
Littering the table next to us.
A worn-down bed that is never made,
Covers thrown carelessly on top.
An extra blanket that lives on the floor
For when I steal all of the sheets.
Pictures that are never quite straight
Hanging on our discolored walls.
The mall Santa and our children’s smiles
Beaming down at us as I watch you cook.
A carpet that can never be fully cleaned,
A faint Crayola drawing on the wall,
A doorknob that opens when locked,
And a frayed handcrafted throw on the loveseat.
I dream of a home given life by our love,
By all of the imperfect perfections
That time has graced us with.
It is a dream that may seem small to most,
But for me,
It is the most important dream I’ve ever had.

Success to most is living in a city and submitting them- selves to corporate greed. It is accomplishing the American dream of living in a place where the buildings are filled to capacity with ego. Where anxiety is cemented into the sidewalks and the sky is polluted by impatience and isolation. In this place, people are free to judge their own success based on the amount of materialism present in their lives and their precious fortunes that remain hidden from the public. To the people that wish to live in places like this, any other option for success does not seem viable. This is because to them, success is not deemed as subjective. There is only one path towards it and one way to quantify it. However, for me, success can be measured by a variety of factors, and I would even consider myself, a twenty-one- year-old suburban student, to currently be successful.

I feel this success when I am standing in the kitchen with my mother. When she pulls one of her modest masterpieces out of the oven and we connect over unwavering love and homemade moments. I feel success every single night when the arms of my love pull me closer and the warmth of his adoration blankets me. When the only sound I can hear in the entire world is the comforting sigh of his breath blowing against my neck. I feel successful whenever my nephew learns a new word, looks up at me, and waits for his applause. When I cheer for him and he hugs me as tight and strong as his tiny body can because he has pure and absolute trust in me. And I feel successful each time I sit around a table with my best friends as we play cards. When this simple activity causes our giggles to turn into gasping for air and the reassurance of our lifelong bond embodies us.

For me, these simple moments make me more successful than any object or prosperity could. It may seem cliché, but the accumulation of these loving people in my life and these memories are more valuable than anything a city could even attempt to offer. So, I may never live in a big city or have a corporate job, but my American dream will always remain complete and successful as long as these precious moments are mine to build on and these people are there to support me.