Trying to Define Fulfillment at Twenty-One (I'm Still Working on It)

I don't have my life figured out. Shocker.

I know that probably isn't the profound opening statement you were hoping for, but it's the truth. Then again, I'm not entirely convinced anyone has their life figured out. Some people are just better at making it look that way. They have color-coded Google Calendars, matching luggage sets, and social media posts explaining their “5-9 after their 9-5”. Meanwhile, I'm over here trying to figure out how five months of my life are supposed to fit into one hiking backpack.

But it got me thinking...

What does "having it all figured out" even mean?

For some people, it means landing the high-paying job they've always dreamed of, buying a house, starting a family, or finally reaching a point where they don't have to check their bank account before ordering food. Some people find fulfillment through their careers, while others find it by exploring the world, creating art, volunteering, or simply building a life that aligns with their values. None of those answers are wrong, but they're all chasing the same thing: a life that feels meaningful.

I graduated from CU Boulder three months ago, and I've spent more time thinking about that idea than I ever expected. The past year has felt like I'm a wet rag being wrung out, pulled equally hard by two futures that both sound exciting. Two different versions of myself, if you will. One side is incredibly

excited to start a career. I genuinely love marketing. I love brainstorming ideas, designing campaigns, telling stories, and learning from people who know more than I do. I want to grow professionally, challenge myself, and build something I'm proud of.

Then there's the other side of me.

The one who's been researching backpacking routes through Southeast Asia like it's somehow become a second major.

Thailand. Vietnam. The Philippines. Indonesia. Japan. Australia.

This part of me somehow ends up with thirty tabs open, researching the same way a little kid flips through a toy catalog before Christmas, completely mesmerized by all the possibilities. Somewhere between watching YouTube travel vlogs and pricing flights, I realized I wasn't just planning a trip. I was imagining a completely different life.

Do I go far?

Or do I go deep?

In other words, do I pursue the career that checks all the boxes? The salary. The experience. The professional growth. The stability. The opportunity to make my parents proud.

Or do I spend a few months learning more about myself before life becomes filled with leases, meetings, PTO requests, and eventually a family of my own?

I want to experience a pace of life that feels different from the constant rush I've known my whole life. I want to immerse myself in cultures I've only read about and learn through conversations instead of headlines. I want to see how food, traditions, religion, and community shape the way people live across the world. I want to challenge myself by stepping outside my comfort zone, and probably question my life decisions while riding on the back of a motorcycle through Vietnam's Ha Giang Loop.

What's funny is that freshman-year me would've never thought this was even an option. The pipeline always seemed so obvious that I never questioned it. You go to high school, get into college, land internships, graduate, post the obligatory "I'm excited to announce..." LinkedIn post, and start climbing the corporate ladder.

That was the plan.

I spent four years preparing myself for it. I built my resume, worked multiple jobs, attended networking events, and stressed over applications because I genuinely believed that was the only next step. Somewhere along the way, though, I think my definition of fulfillment got diluted into whatever looked impressive on paper. 

The strange part is that I actually wanted those things. And I still do.

That's what made this decision so difficult.

It wasn't a choice between something responsible and something reckless. It was a choice between two lives that both felt right.

This summer, I started hearing conversations with family, friends, and coworkers that all sounded oddly similar. People talked about wanting to travel more, see the world, or live abroad, but somewhere in every conversation the same phrases would appear.

"I'll never have enough PTO."

"I missed my window."

"I wish I would've done it when I was younger."

Those words stuck with me more than I expected. They made me realize that this stage of life is one of the few times I'll have complete freedom over my schedule. The older we get, the more responsibilities naturally come along, and corporate America will still be here for me when I return. 

Around that same time, our founder at the W.W. Reynolds Foundation, Bill Reynolds, gifted me a copy of Arthur Brooks' The Meaning of Your Life. Looking back, I probably should've known better than to read a book with a title like that while standing at one of the biggest crossroads of my life thus far.

For a solid week, I found myself disappearing down the "What is the meaning of life?" rabbit hole. I eventually had to come back down to earth because, despite what twenty-one-year-old me hoped, I wasn't going to uncover the secret to human existence before breakfast.

But the book did leave me with something I couldn't stop thinking about.

One of Brooks' biggest arguments is that success and meaning aren't the same thing. You can have the impressive job title, the paycheck, and the accomplishments but still feel like something is missing because achievement alone isn't what gives life purpose. Instead, he writes about meaning coming from relationships, serving something bigger than yourself, personal growth, and intentionally making space to ask life's bigger questions.

That idea still lingers with me long after I closed the book.

Not because I'm having some dramatic quarter-life existential crisis or planning to disappear into the mountains and become a philosopher. If anything, it did the opposite. It reminded me that it's okay to be curious. It's okay to occasionally zoom out from resumes, deadlines, and five-year plans to ask yourself why you're chasing the things you're chasing in the first place.

Maybe I wouldn't find the answer right away.

Maybe there isn't one answer.

So I made myself a deal. If I was going to travel, I wanted to earn every second of it.

I didn't want it to feel like an extended vacation that someone else paid for. I wanted to know that every plane ticket, hostel, ferry ride, and bowl of pad thai came from money I worked hard to save. During my last semester of college, I took on three jobs and set myself a savings goal that honestly felt a little unrealistic. There were nights I questioned why I was working another shift and though about crying in the walk in freezer, but every paycheck reminded me that I wasn't just saving money. I was buying myself experiences.

Now here I am, wrapping up my college house, selling years of memories on Facebook Marketplace, driving across the country, and somehow convincing myself that everything I need for the next five months can fit inside one backpack.

It's exciting. 

It's overwhelming.

And if I'm being honest, it's a little terrifying.

My family keeps asking me what I'm hoping to get out of this trip, and I never really know how to answer. I'm not expecting some dramatic Eat, Pray, Love moment where I suddenly discover the meaning of life while watching a sunset in Bali. If I come home with the answer to life, I'll be sure to let everyone know (no promises).

Maybe I'll come home more certain that I want to pursue my professional career.

Maybe I'll come home with a completely different perspective.

Either way, I've always been a hands-on learner, and this feels like one of those lessons that can't be taught in a classroom or found in a self-help book. It has to be experienced. It has to be lived.

So moral of the story, I don't know exactly what fulfillment looks like yet.

But I’’ll be checking to see if it is tucked into the little moments, conversations, and corners of the world I haven't experienced yet.