Success: Looking Behind the Curtain
I spent some time last week pondering the idea of “success,” and my somewhat tangled relationship to it.
In the throes of anxiety and depression earlier this fall, I felt anything but successful.
I was too frightened. Not only didn’t I feel proud of myself and the life I’ve worked hard to create, my view of this "success" thing was distorted, in the way someone suffering from anorexia might see herself in the mirror and see a completely false image of reality. What other people surely saw from the outside was light years away from what it was feeling like on the inside of my life.
For a long time, I’ve equated success with stability, and stability with financial stability. How do you jibe that with self-employment, a way of life that is by nature unpredictable? I’ve compared myself to other people, ones with more traditional career trajectories and family vacations, or writers whose work I admire but also measured my own against, or entrepreneurs who seemed never to struggle or question their paths.
Owning our successes isn't some shiny, swaggering thing. It can be quiet. It can be -- and is -- up and down. It doesn't mean there isn't failure. It doesn't mean there isn't tons of room to change, grow, learn, and evolve. It doesn't mean being arrogant or cocky. Why would it mean that? Because that is what we're taught.
My mind flashes to fifth or sixth grade: A girl who bragged was a girl who would be shunned. I don't know where these voices come from, but in my head, I hear, "You think you're so smart." Don't be so smart. "You think you're so special." Don't be so special.
No wonder we don't share our successes freely. As girls, we are taught to tamp these down. To minimize our accomplishments, not to stand out or make anyone else "feel bad."
I distanced myself from accomplishment for a long time, feeling the weight of it, the never-enough-ness. Once many years ago, at a gathering of women, we went around and made up six-word memoirs on the spot. Mine was, "I was amazing, then I quit."
For the most part, I am no longer trying to scale some impossible peak. I still grapple with it, to be sure, especially when it comes to things like savings and retirement and college tuition or owning a home, things I do not have. But I am beginning to know in my bones that these do not determine or define my "success."
I am proud of the home I provide for myself, my wife, my kids. I am proud of supporting Mani on her path. I am proud of doing my best as a mom, which does not mean I I don't often feel like I have no idea what I'm doing, just as being proud of my work doesn't mean I don't fall prey to comparing myself to others. I do. But I am getting better at catching myself and knowing that they are on their path and I am on mine, and not everyone is for everyone.
This fall, when I hit a rough patch, I was stricken by fear that everything would come crashing down. All I could see was ruin. I was even considering applying for jobs. Fear is part and parcel with this path, and I was in the throes of it. And one day, one hour, at a time, I made decisions and tapped into every possible resource -- inner and outer -- to get my footing back.
We don't often get to see how things get made -- sausage, taxes, books, businesses.
I think the more we look behind the curtain, the healthier we can be in our expectations of ourselves and the more compassionate we can be with each other.
Which leads me to conclude that real “success” does not always reaching some external benchmark, but can be a deeply seated internal feeling. It is not about how much money you make or how nice your house is or whether you can afford college for your kids. It is about knowing that you have done your best, you have shown up over and over and over for the people and things that matter most, you have failed and fallen down and found your way back up more times than you can count.
The real success is resilience.
The real resilience is living itself.