A big question over the last few months for me has been, "what is success?". I spent so many years defining success in a very traditional, very Washington way. Meaning that it was about access, relevance and how many unopened emails I had on my blackberry.
There is nothing like being unemployed, even by conscious choice, to poke a big - huge - hole in that definition. The emails are no longer from tycoons or a royal house of whatever. They are updates from freecycle. Texts are no longer about an event, a flight schedule or teams deploying to disaster zones. They are typically about how late someone is going to be to meet me (since they are dealing with the latest humanitarian crisis.) Superficially, the concierge at the Four Seasons no longer recognizes me. The protection of the tycoon bubble no longer applies.
What is a girl to do?
When I was hiding out in Paris, it was easier. No one asked me what I did, or why I was there. It was Paris, after all. On the beach in Mexico, no one cared what I did or who I worked for. Most were just worried about whether I would survive the morning beach walk.
Being back in DC is different. Even my best friends are getting a little tired of listening to what I'm up to (breakfast, coffee, lunch, drink, dinner, repeat), how many movies I've seen or how many miles I've logged on the treadmill (20 yesterday). Most everyone expects me to do something, be someone. If not, they quickly lose interest and, in the rudest of cases, just get up and walk away.
This is not easy to take. The initial blows to the ego are hard and keep coming. What I've realized during this time (go ahead, prepare to smack your forehead and say 'duh) is that the only person who really matters in the conversation that starts with "and what do you do" is me. Really. I'm the only person that can define my success, my relevance.
It's not as easy as it sounds but it is true. It is surprising that it took me so long to figure it out. There are, literally, millions of articles, poems, blog entries, songs, etc. defining success and all focus on personal responsibility, looking inside yourself.
I'm me, though, and I need something to remind of me of this and to help keep me centered when everyone around me is pressuring me to get a job, find a husband, settle down, start a business (and the list goes on).
For that I now turn to the story of Bessie Stanley. Bessie Stanley entered a newspaper contest in 1905. Her poem won first prize, $250. Her entry was published again, again, and again. I'm sure her neighbors and her families thought she was very successful. Then, for years, her work fell out of fashion. In some cases, this world famous work was actually attributed to someone else. Greeting cards were printed, anthologies published, Starbucks has her poem on the side of a cup. Trick is/was that no one knew it was hers.
Many might be angered by this, bitter that their success was claimed by someone else, or sad that they were lost in the conversation. Not Bessie. By all accounts, including a lovely email exchange, Bessie and her family, loved that the poem was out there. Yes, they often tried to reclaim credit of it for her. But she was never bitter. The poem had helped pay her mortgage and she was proud of it. But she never let it consume her.
I love this. Bessie found her success in a happy, loving family. She was comfortable knowing she had written a great poem, in sharing her wisdom, but she simply lived her life in the best way she could.
There are so many different ways this could have gone. Lawsuits, bitter public battles, could have ensued. Nope. Just a quiet confidence in her work and her life. I hope that one day I can look back on my own life and define my own success so simply.
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Oh, what's the poem you ask? I'm sure you'll recognize it even though the original version differs from other versions I have seen.
"He has achieved success who has lived well, laughed often and loved much; who has gained the respect of intelligent men and the love of little children; who has filled his niche and accomplished his task; who has left the world better than he found it, whether by an improved poppy, a perfect poem, or a rescued soul; who has never lacked appreciation of earth’s beauty or failed to express it; who has always looked for the best in others and given them the best he had; whose life was an inspiration; whose memory a benediction."
