Success, Failure and the Grey Areas In Between

For as long as I can remember, I have felt immense pressure to succeed, to be successful, to be a success. And although I never really knew exactly how to do so, I gave it my best. Throughout my childhood, when life was simple and Dads are impressed by things like learning to write your name in cursive writing and getting perfect on spelling tests, success seemed to be tangible. I felt as though if I just kept doing whatever it was I was doing to make my Daddy smile, I would be on the road to a successful life.

Unfortunately, life has a way of becoming complicated on you. My Daddy still smiles at me, but here I am, at nearly 28 and I still couldn’t tell you what I believe success to be. I suppose this is my attempt to do so.  

As I often do, I turned to the internet for answers to my questions. What does the world define as success? I wanted to know. 


Ironically, the one source I can almost always trust to clarify the meaning of any obscure word, the dictionary, gave me less certainty about the true meaning of success than when I had begun my search. It had only been five minutes and already I felt as though I had taken on an issue I couldn't hope to understand.

                suc·cess/səkˈses/

Noun:

The accomplishment of an aim or purpose. The attainment of popularity or profit.

Perhaps I am a simple layman, but it seems to me that the word success has two very different meanings. How does one interpret this? Is success subjective – relative to the opinions of those who are judging you? Like beauty, is success in the eye of the beholder?

Rather than finding answers, a myriad of questions were flooding my mind.

In the interest of preserving my sanity, I set about analyzing this confounding definition on a more granular level.

For me, success has a very positive connotation to it. My imagination drifts to chubby cheeked highschool students embarking on their journey out of highschool on their graduation day, the expression of sheer agony mixed with pure pleasure as a marathon runner crosses the finish line, the feeling I had when I received my first real job offer after college. All of these thoughts coexist happily within the defined realms of accomplishing an aim or a purpose.

But what of those goals and aims that are negative? If you attain the goal of suicide, does that make you a success? How about if you achieve your goal of starving yourself until you are just a shade of a human being? Is that successful? Murderers, rapists, liars and thieves – all of these people achieve their goals but would society define them as successes? I would like to think not.

So, perhaps this broad definition is required. Maybe success is achieving your goals, but only if they culminate in becoming rich, famous or popular.

By these standards I hardly make the cut. I am not rich, last time I checked I wasn’t famous, and the jury is still out on my overall popularity.

It is at this point, to my dismay that my eyes scrolled down the page to read the antonym for success – failure. The words practically beam off the page at me, judging me for my lack of successful qualities.

My chances of achieving success were starting to look quite dim at this point, and feeling discouraged, I retired to a cup of tea to spend some time absorbing my realization of my utter failure in life.

Upon further consideration, I came to the pleasant conclusion that my old friend, the dictionary was wrong. I am not a failure; I’m just not rich, famous or popular.

As far as I am concerned, these requirements are too rigid. If the case were that success was achieved only by the rich famous and popular, well then that makes the rest of us big old failures. I was beginning to feel a little better about myself. This was swiftly followed by the nagging awareness that I was no closer to understanding what exactly success was.

I closed my eyes and asked myself to produce the first word that came to mind associated with success. Time and time again, my brain responded with the word ‘Happiness.’ Not, money, or fame.

Maybe I lack ambition.

Or maybe the only way I truly believe I will achieve happiness is by being successful. Regardless, my little exercise was not helping much.

For something that you either are, or you aren’t, success seems to be torturously intangible, almost to the point of being laughable. Why is it that the definition seems so clear cut and yet I am left with the feeling that something very important has been left out?

After what seemed like hours of quietly pondering (which in actuality was probably more like 30 min), from somewhere deep inside me, the answer came.

Success is measured by the soul, not by prosperity, or how many people attend your funeral. No one can judge you to be a success or a failure except yourself.

The dictionary is correct in some semblance of its explanation, but it leaves out an important aspect of what I believe to be success – fulfillment. It may mean acquiring mass amounts of wealth to one person, or being recognized by strangers to another, or perhaps renowned by peers and colleagues by someone else. For yet others, success means simply to plant a vegetable garden and reap its harvest. The underlying variable that remains the same is this – you smile in your soul. Something inside you says, “Good job, you! You have done it! I approve of you.”

Is this a vague explanation? In short, yes. And after some review, I am inclined to say my explanation looks a lot like the dictionary’s “The accomplishment of an aim or purpose.”

I submit this minor alteration for your review.

suc·cess/səkˈses/

Noun:

The accomplishment of an aim or purpose that brings an individual genuine happiness and fulfillment.

One might ask then, after all this reflection on the subject, do I consider myself successful? I wish the answer came easily. I may not have accomplished everything in my life to make myself genuinely happy and fulfilled yet, but each day I am a little closer than the last. I think a better question would be, do I consider myself a failure? 

Something inside me says I’m not. J

I Am a Bird

When a small and helpless gosling struggles its way into this world, and takes its first breaths of air, does it arrive with a sense of knowing that it will someday embark on a great and perilous journey across thousands of miles and vast expanses of terrain? My best judgment tells me this isn’t so.

At what point in life then, does this little being become conscious of this greater purpose? An internal clock, ticking away, counting down the hours, minutes, and seconds until departure, is what I like to imagine. 

Perhaps one day those who have previously completed the migration just head off, and the rest follow in an earnest effort to remain with the group.

What’s fascinating is that we just don’t know.  


Today, with all the fantastic technology we have, we still cannot explain why birds, butterflies, whales and all manner of beasts, at certain periods in their lives are compelled to undertake arduous, often life threatening voyages to destinations that are  incomprehensibly far away.

Whatever the explanation may be, when the call to migrate comes, it never falls upon deaf ears.

Some people will describe it as a building anticipation, an inner restlessness that cannot be ignored, then before you know it, you’ve sold nearly everything you own and you’re standing, slightly stupefied, in front of your over-packed vehicle with the realization that you’re leaving.

It all happens faster than you can logically process, and I suppose that is the beauty of migration – if a bird was able to truly comprehend the risks involved in the migratory process, I mean really sit and dwell on it, you may find that some would choose to stay, and take their chances with winter or food shortages or whatever hardship the migration is intended to avoid. 


Nature is beautiful in this way; it pulls and pushes us all in one direction or another. Without our conscious awareness, we find one day we are not the same, we have grown, changed, have different goals, passions and ambitions.


For some of us, that realization is we must go. We must migrate.

Good Friends Are Hard to Come By

People come in and out of your life everyday. The saying 'people come into your life for a reason a season or a lifetime,' always comes to mind when I meet someone new. For me, most people come into my life for a season. Very few have stuck around for the long haul.

When standing at the precipice of a major life change, one of the toughest things I will have to leave behind, are my friends. I don't like to think of it as leaving anything behind. The world is small in this day and age, and technology grants us the privilege of being able to communicate with loved ones even when they are thousands of kilometers, and three times zones away.

Despite this, actually contemplating the fact that you cannot email a hug, a quiet look of encouragement, or a quick glance at the right time to say 'I know exactly what you are thinking right now..' is tough.

I love my friends. I know everyone says that. But, I really do. They are my family, my confidantes. I keep a very small group of friends. I like it that way. The world moves so fast, that it is impossible to have more than a few good friends and be able to truly be interested and involved in all of their lives. If I could pack my friends, and take them with me I would. Unfortunately, I just don't have the space.

Planning, planning and more Planning!

Moving across the country seems like a great idea in theory, doesn't it? Tossing your fears and inhibitions to the wind, starting out on a bold adventure. After beginning the purge of my extraneous possessions, the subject of actually planning the cross country trek has moved to the forefront of my thoughts.

Wanting to be able to take in at least a couple hours of sights each day, I have allotted myself eight days to travel from my present home, here in Deanlea to my new home in Port Moody, British Columbia . As a result of my unorthodox travel companions, I have opted to sleep in my car every night of the trip.

Before you shake your head and declare my insanity, I implore you to give me the benefit of the doubt. This is not my first long term car journey. In fact, I have driven across country (as the passenger) from Ontario to Sacramento, California, where I lived for some time. When I chose to return back to Ontario. I took a bus, alone. And last year, I drove with my boyfriend down to Mile 0 in the Florida Keys. So with over 16,000km of long distance driving under my belt, I would like to think of myself as a well-seasoned road tripper.

That being said, I have learned that the key to a successful and pleasant road trip with as few mishaps as possible is planning, planning and more planning.

Breaking it down into categories helps immensly and keeps you from overlooking important but tiny details. Because I will be relocating on this journey, and not just visiting per-se, it will require a little extra dilligence on my part. However, I am completely terrified completely convinced it is totally do-able.

The details of how much it will cost, as well as emergency funds have been ironed out and I have progressed to planning the actual route of my trip. A bonus is that I am a member of CAA, which gives me access to maps and travel guides for free. The also offer a service called a TripTik, which allows you to customize a map for you road trip to include whatever stops you'd like to make along the way. You can order one to be printed for free at the CAA office if you're a member. Non-members can visit the caa.ca website and builf their own TripTik to print at home. This tool is super handy and I have used it on more than one occasion. Check it out for yourself, if you'd like.

I have failed to mention that I spent a huge amount of time searching for the right place, and searching for steady employment before I even considered beginning the road trip planning.

After I plan my route, I will share some of the stops I plan to make with you.

Ciao for now...

The Value of Stuff

Everything has a value. Whether it be monetary or sentimental or even practical value. On rare occasions, some items have value that falls into all three of these categories. I like to call it the 'triple threat.'

These days I have been looking at my possessions with new eyes. You see, when you live in a house, you end up with a lot of stuff. Over the years, you acquire it slowly, one knick knack and souvenir at a time. Bits and bobs you tuck away for a day when you might need them. Hidden away are a million little items that you forgot you had.

Now, all of a sudden, I notice everything. For instance, how many books I have...

THE CULL

Assessing the value of your personal belongings is hard.

Frequently when performing this exercise, I have tried to utilize the aforementioned 'triple threat' as criteria. The problems with this approach are as follows:

1) I have too much stuff
2) I can find a good reason to keep all of my stuff
3) I like my stuff

As you will know from reading my previous post, that I am planning on making quite a long distance move. And, alas, the limited space inside and on top of my 2002 Pontiac Sunfire dictates that I must trim the fat. So, every time I look at anything in my house, I try to assign some sort of a value to it.

The first thing that usually comes to mind, seeing as I am traveling thousands of kilometres away from my home, is how much room do you take up? Then, how much money can I fetch for you?  How much do I need you? How much do I want you? How much do I like you?

Time after time, I come to the conclusion, that I want, and need everything. And to boot, I like it all! Please don't think of me as a terribly materialistic person, but, the stuff I have I chose carefully, I saved for, I pined for, and eventually purchased. Inevitably, the emotional or sentimental value of an object almost always outweighs its value in price for me.

But I can't bring everything. After my assessment of my stuff, I began to assess myself. How was I going to be able to do this? Clearly I am too attached to my stuff. A new approach was in order. I needed to assess 'the value of my values.' Or more precisely, the value of the criteria I am weighing each item against. The following is my (very high level, not-so-detailed) list of my criteria of value, in order, from most important to me, to least:

1) Sentimental / Emotional values
2) Practical value
3) Monetary value

It made me realize something interesting. Or rather, I suppose wonder something interesting. Do we all define our value of stuff differently? What criteria do others measure the value of something against? What is value really?

Curiously, value is fluid and changing. It can be defined simply, and at the same time, cannot be explained at all. Why do we value the things we have? I am speaking of possessions specifically in this instance, but, it is a question that can be applied to the intangible as well.

Like our fingerprints, our motives behind our value of things, people, experiences, are completely unique. In way, they define us.
  
Asking these questions has led me to a starting point in the monumental task of reducing the volume of my belongings to approximately 30 square feet.

^Insert Life Here ^

I will start with the things I have no emotional connection to, as it is much easier to assess the practicality of an item when I don't have a personal attachment to it.

LIST OF THINGS TO GO:
1) Dryer
2) Random old rocking chair whose origins I am unaware of
3) Giant armchair and ottoman that I stub my toe on every time I cross my living room
4)...

OK so perhaps I may have a bit of an emotional connection to some of the objects, but negative emotions don't count.

I have listed my items on kijiji.ca and as I write this blog, someone is responding to my chair. I am one more (albeit very small) step closer towards my new home in the west.

Bye Bye!

 

Comfort - Friend or Enemy

Until recently, I had never really put any thought into the concept of comfort. Certainly, i have grasped it on occasion, when slipping into a new pair of socks, or flipping to the cold side of the pillow on a hot summer night. But that is not the comfort I am referring to.

I have often heard the phrase, 'too much of a good thing can be bad,' and like most of these pearls of wisdoms, it holds true in most circumstances. So, is it true of comfort? Can too much comfort be a bad thing?

Sitting on the couch cross legged, staring at my dog curled up, comfortably, I struggle with this question.

I am almost 27. It doesn't seem that old, but in my self-professed old age, I am beginning to re-evaluate my path in life. The first thing that came to my me, when I began this quest of self discovery, was, why even do it in the first place? I am comfortable. I went to school, got myself a good job, I have a roof over my head, a small dog to keep me company (among other critters) and for all-intensive purposes of this argument, I am pretty healthy. So, why change? What is so bad about comfort?

All through my early twenties, I hungered for this comfort, for stability, and a schedule, to know where my life was heading. Now that I am here, I am less than enthralled.

Part of me feels guilty even writing that. But the fact remains, despite the over abundance of comfort in my life, the security and safety, I still want more.

Comfort in my humble opinion is like a sweet drug that lulls us into complacency. We trade one dream or another for the warm and fuzzy embrace of our old friend comfort. All the while, we tell ourselves that it is for the best, because this was our ultimate goal wasn't it? Comfort?

Under closer observation, comfort doesn't seem like such a wonderful thing. It starts to look like a habit, and addiction even a disease or perhaps to be less harsh, a mild infection.

I am suffering from a serious case of comfort.

Case in point...exhibit A 

Liz - Early 20s