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When my father was my age, he was several years into his role as managing partner of the foremost firm of solicitors in our region. My eldest brother is a top tier lawyer at an international law firm, ranked Band 2 on the Chambers scale. My middle brother is a senior diplomat, my sister an academic head of service supporting research.

One of my closest friends from university has propelled way beyond managing international partner at a top City law firm, and is now found expanding their business east. Another has just been made Minister for Law and Justice in the government of his motherland. Still another, project director for an international aid agency.

Over the past couple of years, as I’ve refamiliarised myself with many I brushed past in my youth, I’ve learnt that almost without exception they’ve risen the ranks into senior roles in their respective fields. Heads of service, directors, managing partners. It goes on like this.

And then there are those meetings at work, as I watch everyone around me accelerating off into new roles with grand titles elsewhere. People I have supported for years introduce me to their replacement, reminding me that I will always be here, providing much the same function, never to move on.

Pondering on all of this, it’s only naturally that I ask myself: “Shouldn’t I be on such a trajectory?” How is it that I’ve rested on my laurels so, simply grateful to have a job? For fifteen years, I’ve done much the same thing, only taking on more responsibility and greater ownership. Ever reliable, without ambition.

I don’t know what my trajectory is. I don’t know if what I do is simply the best for me, providing the stability my family needs. No, it carries no great status, but I am always near at hand if my family needs me. It provides a salary sufficient for our needs. Perhaps it provides just the right balance of creativity and challenge I seek: a job that encompasses every individual role I once felt moved to pursue.

What is my trajectory? When I was about fourteen, I spent my spare time dreaming of building a house on spring-fed lands. The impetus then that I was destined for failure, and that only a subsistence lifestyle would be able to sustain me. By extraordinary happenstance, I got to build a house on spring-fed lands two years ago, set amidst tea fields and hazel groves.

Perhaps that is my trajectory. To pursue those old dreams of mine. Not to rise through the ranks of global corporations, but to pursue all that my heart once yearned for. To honour God, if He wills it. To try to raise a content family and create a happy home. To facilitate greater opportunities for these children than they might have otherwise had. To serve others in whatever way I am able to.

Instead of growing despondent in the face of all the achievements of family and friends, perhaps we’re called instead to celebrate their successes. That is their trajectory. And as for ourselves: perhaps our trajectory was something else entirely. Certainly I could never have imagined all that has come to pass.