I used to spell that word out — pom poms high in the air — right before yelling, “That’s the way you spell success!” on the basketball court, in my cheerleading skirt and vest. So chipper! So simple! Right? Just spell it out, people. Then make it happen. It’s an equation, and math doesn’t lie.
Success back then was passing grades, maybe wearing the right thing on a given day. It was small scale.
Success today — in the adult way — is so much bigger, it seems. There’s success according to you, and success according to me – but then you factor in society’s definition, and that of your parents again – and you’re back to ground zero. I often think there’s no such thing.
Except I have a definition rooted deep inside of me.
Had you asked me just one week ago what success meant to me?
I would have told you, quite easily.
“Being paid an earthly dollar for something I have written. Amount no matter. (Like, I’m not kidding. Five cents would have meant something.) A mere symbol that the thing which commands my heart and hands has tangible value here on this Earth.”
That was my entire definition. That was all of it.
Let’s fast forward. It’s Sunday night. This past Tuesday, my first paid piece flew out onto the internet.
And right now? Well, it’s Monday across the world, and another paid piece just went live on an Australian site.
And I don’t feel much different.
I can’t believe it — but I don’t feel much different.
I suppose if I felt enrobed in success, it could feel heavy. I might need to sit down on the ladder I’ve been climbing so long. And if I were to sit, the uneven weight could cause me to tip.
I’m better reaching. R-e-a-c-h-i-n-g. And never solving a thing.