There are a lot of things that people around me want that I’m not entirely sure I’m interested in. I don’t want a lot of things that I think my people in life want for me. I’m probably doing a fair bit of projecting in that last statement because the best people in my life all pretty much just want me to do whatever the hell it is that makes me happy.

And that is all peachy and sunshine and glitter confetti magic.

But it’s sometimes a challenge to remember this important truth. Some days it’s all too easy to get caught up in the reality that the surest way to win modern society’s highest form of social approval — ALL THE LIKES! — is to get married or have a baby.

I haven’t posted anything on Facebook about belatedly finishing my degree because of all the corresponding shame tied up in how long it took, but it’s easy to guess how that would compare to those all-important markers of individual human achievement. (Or, more accurately, paired human achievement.) I’m not too concerned with this.

The thing is, even if I did get wrapped up in my own petulant self-pity, I sincerely hope that the thought would not ever occur to me that I should be any less happy for the people in my life doing things that make their lives more fulfilling.

And yet. I know this is a thing that happens.

There’s something particularly unsavory about seeing someone from “your side” say and do awful shit. Seeing the worst of a mindset to which you ostensibly belong placed front and center is frustrating, to say the least.

Such is the feeling that I got recently upon seeing someone bemoan the self-indulgent horror of mommy blogs. Mommy blogs, you see, are basically feminism’s public enemy #1. Or something like that.

For reference, the thing that’s got me twitchy:

I did (and will continue to) spasm whenever I encounter a “mommy blog.” So self-absorbed, smug, and stupid. I’m glad she fulfilled her dream of doing something her body (and every other woman’s body) is innately designed to do, but some of us have less predictable, more independent goals to pursue and brag about. (x)

What makes me anxious about this comment is that I can feel some of where it’s coming from. I love stuff like

STFU Parents

. I will be the first to raise a glass in agreement that it’s a pure douche canoe move for people who marry and/or procreate to usurp the spotlight from other people trying to share their unrelated excitement.

That said, the opposite is also true.

I think my friend’s doctoral graduation picture is every bit as much of a big deal as the wedding photos. Based strictly on relevance to my own life, I read more blogs from grad students than parents. That doesn’t mean the latter is somehow any less valid or worthwhile.

Being happy for other people and celebrating their accomplishments isn’t some sort of zero sum game.

Unless my big dream is to become a serial killer who moonlights in arson, it’s not really anyone else’s place to tell me whether my big dreams are worthy of discussion or sharing or attempts to find connection with other people who share those dreams and values.

Of course, you’re also not obligated to validate them. This is a companion topic for another day. (A topic I’ve been meaning to take up for some time.) Still, who the fuck are you to say that motherhood is somehow an invalid priority?

(And this is to say nothing of the insulting treatment of what motherhood actually consists of. Given how hard I typically find it to take care of my one 26 year old self, I am terrified of the prospect of being in charge of the life of a small helpless human. Crazier still — MANY SMALL HELPLESS HUMANS. I mentioned that I don’t read a lot of mommy blogs, but I assume the entire point of the genre is that there’s actually a whole lot of shit that comes after the basic biology “innately designed” portion. That biology doesn’t do a damn thing to make you a good parent.)

It is, admittedly, harder when it seems like the choices you value are consistently undervalued. I just don’t understand why, if you’re acquainted with that feeling, you would want to inflict it upon others. (Strangers, no less!)

To reiterate my brief Twitter rant on the subject: the solution is to celebrate more, not to shit on other people’s happiness.

To all of my friends doing cool stuff that makes you feel happy and fulfilled: A TOAST. CONGRATULATIONS! I HOPE YOU CONTINUE TO DO THINGS THAT MAKE YOU FEEL HAPPY AND FULFILLED.*

*So long as those things are not murder/arson/being-a-terrible-person/etc.