Marks of success according to my younger self are a wee bit different to those I have now.

For example, finally getting to a point where my super is more than my HECs debt is not something 12-year-old Dannielle would have dreamed of, but it’s something 27-year-old Dannielle feels pretty darn smug about.

27-year-old Dannielle thinks that having enough savings for a house deposit is a measure of success. Her goals include having a kitchen stocked with French cast iron cookware in coordinating colours and being able to grow her own potatoes on her hobby farm. She wants a rustic wooden dining table long enough to seat 12 friends. She’d like to write a book. She’d froth a pair of customised RMs.

But success looked a little different to 12-year-old Dannielle. And when I compare my current state to those pre-teen KPIs, I feel pretty good about where I’m at right now:

Having a laptop: Far out, watching people hack into the main frame with a laptop made them seem so badarse back in the day. I really wanted to type something with purpose, like a Charlie’s Angel or a glamorous executive working in fashion with a report due. Needing a computer was the dream, but being the kind of mover and shaker who needed a computer on the go was the pinnacle of greatness.

I have a laptop top now and I don’t exactly feel like Lucy Liu or Christina Applegate (Don’t Tell Mom the Babysitter’s Deadwas a formative film for me), but I sure as shit love the sound of the keys making noises as I press them. Sometimes I just write “the the the the the the the the” over and over and over because I love the sound. As I write this, I am using a laptop on my bed. If you could see me now, young Dannielle!

Needing a personal assistant: I used to play “offices” a lot a child. It was my favourite game. I would set up a corner office with a window with lots of papers and a typewriter on my desk, then get to work on some urgent tasks. I was a very important executive with lots of decisions to make and reports to prepare and files to have one people’s desks by five. I was under a lot of pressure, so I needed a person assistant to do some bidding for me. Her name was Channel and she was only available on mobile phone. I would bark orders at her on my toy flip phone, angrily slamming it shut when I had to repeat myself yet again with a simple request.

I don’t have a Channel, but I hope to one day become important enough to require one. I like to think that 27-year-old Dannielle would be more of a mentor than a highly-strung Charlotte Pickles type of boss – not that I have anything against Angelica’s mum. She’s an icon and a role model and I am not ashamed to say it.

Having Austar: If anyone reading this is not a regional Australian born in the early 90s (I know my demographic), Austar was the equivalent of Foxtel, or pay TV. It had shows like Spongebob Squarepantsand Dariamarathons and no ads.

Austar isn’t a thing anymore, but I do have Foxtel, which is even better because it suggests that I’m living the big city life as well as paying for premium entertainment. I got it especially for Game of Thronesbut they’ve really won me over because they have EVERY EPISODE OF GRAND DESIGNS EVER on there at the moment so I’m going to hang on to it for another month or so.

Having a day planner: I mean, these were just so fucking cool. Having things to do and needing to write them in a diary to organise yourself? That’s the funnest.

I’m proud to say that I do have a diary now, which I need to professional and personal purposes. I mean, I do write things in there such as “chatted with Grandma” and I don’t use a pen with a fluffy top, but I feel like I have fulfilled this dream.

Driving a convertible: If you were rich and successful in the 90s, you drove a convertible, most likely a red one. You had a cup holder. You blasted music through the speakers. You drove along like hot shit. Of course I wanted one.

I am currently borrowing my dad’s x-trail because I had to sell my unregistered Camry for $100 and I needed wheels when I moved back from Sydney. It’s a really roomy vehicle. It holds a lot of stuff. I’m not complaining at all. Plus, I feel like my hair would get really knotty if I drove around with the top down.

Being on Better Homes and Gardens: We didn’t have Austar, so our television choices were limited and I loved craft and home decoration tips. It was my ultimate goal to host this show (while being an Olsen twin).

I have let myself down. I mean, I don’t have to be on Channel Seven, I could film my own version on my smartphone and create a YouTube channel. Modern technology makes it totally possible. But still, I ignore my dreams.

Having a double bed: I dreamed of being the kind of young adult who talked on the phone laying on my belly while flipping though magazines, something that looks much more glamorous on a double bed. I wanted the bed to have a funky doona cover and tasteful throw pillows that I could flop on to after having my heartbroken by a square-jawed dreamboat. I wanted fairy lights on the bed head. I wanted it all.

Now I have a queen-sized bed, which is a whole couple of centimetres bigger than a double bed, which would make my 12-year-old self very happy. I have a total of seven pillows, which match my doona cover. I even have a throw blanket that ties the whole look together. I’m a fucking goddess.

Although, I rarely talk on the phone in bed while flipping through magazines – I prefer to go hands-free and do housework while I’m on the phone because it’s more efficient that way.