In 2006, I was voted Most Likely to Succeed.

Like many 18-year-olds, I thought success was a destination. A city. A degree. A career. A title. A house. A relationship. A collection of accomplishments proving I had arrived.

So I came out of the gate running.

I left Alabama for the University of Tennessee looking for a new identity. Later, I transferred to the University of Alabama in Tuscaloosa. My major changed. My friends changed. My career plans changed. My life changed.

Twenty years later, I found myself back in Tuscaloosa asking a very different question.

Not “What do I want to become?”

But “Who am I?”

Somewhere along the way, I started preparing for the wrong test.

I thought the exam was about achievement.

Can you build a career?

Can you buy a house?

Can you get the car on the vision board?

Can you survive hard things?

Can you find success?

Then life handed me a different exam booklet.

The house I once prayed for became the house I desperately prayed to sell.

The car on the vision board became the car I can’t currently drive.

Jobs changed.

Titles changed.

Plans changed.

And suddenly I was left with a question none of those things could answer:

Who am I when the labels get quiet?

The answer wasn’t in the next city.

It wasn’t in the next job.

It wasn’t in the next relationship.

It wasn’t in my resume, my social media profile, my credit score, or the opinion of my most recent supervisor.

The answer was in remembering who God says I am.

When I remember who He is and who I am in Him, the pressure comes off.

I don’t have to make every opportunity work.

I don’t have to force every season to last forever.

I don’t have to squeeze my identity out of temporary things.

Twenty years after being voted Most Likely to Succeed, I’m realizing success was never the destination.

Wholeness was.

And maybe the greatest success isn’t becoming someone new.

Maybe it’s remembering who God said you were all along.