Success by Any Other Name

My mind is fuzzy while I try to remember the snatches of deep pondering that I enjoyably lost myself in last night. I took a long hike into my brain's branching web of pockets and fell into a small pond of wisdom and foresight--such a pity that it remains elusive now. The profoundness of it all is remarkable and such is life that I should stumble upon a glimmer of my purpose here, only to forget it when I took the chance to write it down.

This irritating conundrum digressed upon a different memory however that I feel the need to pick apart and examine with equal fervor. After an exhilarating evening out with some friends to support a very dear friend while he performed at a hole in the wall venue (sometimes these are the best places to hear good music really) we were swinging very high--sober and on actual swings--and someone, whom I had just met and have already forgotten his name, mentioned that we should build a time machine.

At first I was amused by the suggestion, because it seems to be the youthful dream of every person I meet, and since this person was several years younger than me, it seemed appropriate. But it was the reactive comments that sent my mind into tailspins. The general consensus was in agreement, it would be great to go back in time--to an age where there weren't many responsibilities, when there was still youth. I was alone in thinking that I did not want to go back or look forward, even after pointing out that they are all still young, and in perspective relatively free from responsibilities: none being married or with children other than myself. Then one of my friends, whose thoughts and ideas often inspire me or give me pause, said that he should like to go forward in time--to see if he is a success.

That's it, right there. For several hours after this conversation I battled the irrational idea of success. What is success anyway! A unit of measure; a following of order; an inheritance of possessions? Who determines what is successful? And why is failure the opposite--when it is said that by failing we learn to succeed? Is it a personal revelation to have success, or is it someone else's ideals we look to fulfill? When do we determine if we have been successful? How do we know when we have crossed the finish line? It hit me that success is completely intangible!

In general, I have been successful. I am able to congratulate and give recognition to others for their successes. But isn't it true that I am defining success by my own weight of what is worthy of praise? So is there humility in success? Do I not have to reflect on my own experiences of failure to understand when I or someone else has succeeded? Or is success something we envy in others, not truly understanding what the other has been through in their attempts to move forward and in our own forceful powerlessness when feeling left behind.

We as humans never want to be left behind. Isn't this the paradox of "keeping up with the Joneses"? Drawing on experience: I met my husband while finishing high school. Against everyone's better opinion and indulgent in my own naivety I left college when I unexpectedly started a family. I worked hard with little money to speak of so that I could return to college and eventually finished my degree, married with three children. The toll of my success has been heavy and my family now lives in my mother's home, often bridled with tension and foaming at the mouth with resentment. I have been striped of my former independence, my fleeting moment of adulthood and my reality of functional prosperity has all but become a far fetched fantasy. Degree in hand and future spread ahead into a chaotic time of scandalous recession--money is still beyond my means. Yet, surprisingly, I am content. My children are well provided for and in respective health. There is an ample roof over our heads and a safe, quiet neighborhood to play and grown within. The schools on this side of town are recognized for their successful teachers and bright students who are sure to be successes in the future. My husband is working at a job that offers benefits and paid leave--and while he truly dislikes his job on any given day, he too seems content to continue on this path. He is returning to school this fall to finish the degree he left behind when our lives became entangled--to pursue a new path and propel us in a different direction…one of success.

So am I a failure? Who determines this? Is it I who should be reflective and accept my direction or am I prey to the perspective of another? One who might not have walked in my shoes or chosen the path upon which I allow my family to wander.

When will I know I have become successful? If I were to see myself in the future…would I even know who I am looking at? There are so many things I wish to experience while here, in life. So many things I have already experienced that some people have lived a lifetime without. I would not want to go back in time…and because I do not think I would fully appreciate my success without the leading experiences…I do not want to go forward in time either. As far as I can tell, truly, existence is a success.