What Exactly is Success?

    Someone, who is almost as smart as I am, asked me to define success recently. It started me pondering yet another one of those "meaning of life" questions. You know the questions... the ones that have you contemplating whether your entire existence has been an exercise in futility, or whether the road not taken was the one that you actually should have been on. Meaning of life questions inevitably take you all the way down to your core beliefs, they force you to examine what you really truly believe, and whether you are in fact living up to those things you say you believe in. Because the truth is, if you're not actually acting on said beliefs, - then how strongly do you really believe?

 And thus began my exploration into the meaning of success :  what does it mean to me, and am I living up to said beliefs. As always, I reached for my handy dandy dictionary for that first attempt at defining something so complex it eludes actual definition. While it would have been nice to see my picture next to the word success - alas the answers were not going to be so easy... 

Merriam-Webster defines success as: A degree or measure of succeeding; A favorable or desired outcome ; Also attainment of wealth, favor or eminence.  

The synonyms are: blockbuster, megahit, smash, hit, supernova and winner. 

   Isn't there some rule against defining a word with a variation of itself? How is that an answer? And look at those synonyms! Is it any wonder many of us come to the conclusion that money is the true measure of success? Or that somehow being a success means being famous? 

    I mean the Kardashians are famous but is that really success? Is all the money they have truly success? Certainly an argument could be made that they are successful - they have all the trappings of wealth: they have stuff,  they have money, they have freedom from worrying whether the electricity is going to get turned off. They can travel - which is something I admit makes me a bit jealous. But if that wealth is made off the back of your daughter's sex tape, is that really worth it? For me - the answer is a resounding no. No offense to Mama Kardashian, but I'm fairly certain I couldn't look myself in the mirror. Beyond the mere fact that they "made their G in a sleezy way" (man I still miss Tupac)  I believe in the concept of Karma.  Selling my child's dignity so my family could live in the lap of luxury comes with a bill that I wouldn't want to face. 

  So is wealth always bad? Of course not. There are plenty of wealthy people who have made fortunes ethically - I hope to be one of those myself. 
  
  But if I don't make that mad money - am I a failure? Does that invalidate my life's work? Van Gogh never saw a penny from his work, yet he is arguably one of the greatest painters of his era. (Not that I'm comparing myself to Van Gogh. I've so far managed to pay my bills and hang on to my ears) 

   At this point, I'd like to say that money does not equal success... but I know that some would heartily disagree. And I'm not sure that I believe it either. Money can be a great way to measure our success or how much others value our efforts. Money is an awesome reward for a job well done. You'll get no argument from me. But is it the only reward? 

  Aren't there things that are at least as important as money? If not more? What about happiness? or pride? or just pure love? How about just to make the world a better place? 

   Are the efforts of people like Mother Teresa, Gandi, or Martin Luther King without value? If people gave up because they couldn't monetize their passion, the world would have missed out on the works of  Johanness Vermeer, Edgar Allen Poe, Oscar Wilde, Franz Shubert, and Matthew Brady - just to name a few.  

 So it seems clear that money isn't the sole measure of success. Or at least it's not to me. 

    And there it seems, is the crux of the issue. Success, no matter how succinctly the dictionary manages to define it, is not a black or white easy answer. What is success to me, is not to another. 

    The garbage man who does his job, lives a happy life with a family who loves him is no less successful than the billionaire who travels the world and drives a Maserati. Oh I'm sure to some, on the surface, one is more successful than another - but if the garbage man is happy, if he's accomplishing the things he's set out to in his life - who are we to dispute his happiness? And the flip side of course, is that there is no guarantee that  the billionaire is truly happy either. Money doesn't buy happiness or love - it simply makes misery more comfortable and easier to numb. 

  We all have to decide for ourselves what true success is and go after it. In the end, that's what really matters. Did we truly pursue those goals we set? (Did we even have any goals?)  Did we give 100%? Did we use the talents we came here with to make the world (or at least our small piece of it) better? Are we going to leave this planet filled with regret at the things we didn't do? Or are we going to arrive at the end of this journey with a bucket list that's tattered, shredded and covered with check marks? 

  As the bell begins to toll on my daughter's childhood, I find myself at that place all parents eventually do - reinventing a life where she is no longer my primary purpose for existence. So often as parents, we make the choices that are in the best interest of our child - often at the cost of our own desires or needs. A couple of decades spent doing that, can leave you unsure of who you are outside the lens of  parenthood. So now I search to redefine myself, my goals, my desires and ultimately my definition of success. 

    I find that my need to be creative is beginning to trump all else. I'm still not entirely sure what that will look like, I am only certain there are worlds inside of me yet to be expressed - begging to have a voice. It's time. Perhaps it will be acting, art, writing or maybe all three. 

  Traveling is another priority on that bucket list.  For a long time, I've rebelled against a childhood of moving by staying planted in one spot. It's finally come to me, that in staying planted, I have scarred myself in ways that childhood never did. Now I want to move back out of the comfort zone, wake up in different places, meeting different people, and just be okay with wherever the tide takes me. 

 I've never felt a burning desire to get married and live the standard white picket fence existence. And no, it's still not happening (Sorry Dad!) But lately I've rediscovered the desire to be brave and open with my heart. To love recklessly, with abandon, giving no thought or care to the messy endings that often follow. I want to trust unquestioningly, without once doubting someone's motives, to enjoy the beginnings without worrying about the endings. 

  So on the day when I shuffle off this mortal coil, if I have my amazing daughter by my side, a beat up suitcase, a portfolio of work I'm proud of, a box of love letters, maybe a lover (or two or three!) then I'll consider my life a success.  Oh and if I've met Pitbull. Definitely have to do that one. 

  

Ode To My Tattoo

  When I announced that I was getting a tattoo last year - the response was mostly positive. Though a few people accused me of going through a mid-life crisis. I'm in my 40's - so fair enough I guess. And some had an even more visceral reaction - which was kind of funny considering it was my decision, my body and mine to live with forever.

    What some people saw as a sudden (uncharacteristic?) whim was in fact a really long journey for me. I first thought about getting a tattoo 20 years ago when a dear friend of mine got a tattoo on his chest. It was something deeply personal and spiritual for him. That started me thinking of a tattoo as something other than a mistake made after a drunken night's high jinks.

    About the same time I started my career as a massage therapist, so tattoos became a daily viewing pleasure, so to speak. Saw some really great tats, some really horrible ones, and ones that I knew were the result of the aforementioned drunken night's high jinks.

   Somewhere around year 10 of being a massage therapist I decided I wanted a tat. Not a drunken high jinks tat, but a well thought out, deeply personal and spiritual tattoo. So I started thinking about exactly what I wanted. And thinking... And thinking....

10 years later.... STILL THINKING!

    Okay the truth is I was one part chicken shit, and one part undecided about what I wanted. If I was going to have something permanently etched into my skin it had to be something memorable. Something I could look at in my 70's and still feel like I made a good decision. So with that in mind I ruled out
    - Betty Boop
    - A Chinese Character ( who knew what it really said?)
   - various quotes
   - a mermaid (Okay that one hasn't been totally ruled out - it might be the next one)

About a year ago I ran across a really cool graphic. A butterfly made out of the Cuban flag.

I can't totally explain why, but I liked it immediately. I kept looking at it, coming back to it. I even started to research the meaning of butterflies.

   It turns out that butterflies represent transformation, transition and even the soul in some cultures. It represents faith as we make these transformations in our life. Unquestioning faith that we will exit our cocoon of transformation better than we entered it. Faith that things will always work out for the best. That seemed like a perfect analogy for where I am at this point in my life. My daughter is about to leave for college. I'm about to change careers - leaving behind a business I've spent 20 years building. I'm about to hit a huge reset button on my life and the truth is I vacillate between nerve wracking excitement and paralyzing fear. Everything in my life is transforming. I'd love to have some of that butterfly mojo.

    I also realized the butterfly meant a lot for me personally; beyond the ascribed meaning. It's this fragile thing of beauty that can migrate 2,500 miles. That's kind of impressive when you think about it. That kind of strength is something I'd love to call forth within myself. They're also cold blooded and cannot survive in the cold, so they migrate to warmer climates - I relate to that!

  And the Cuban flag? Well that's been part of my own transformation in life. My "Cuban-ness" (Yeah I made that up!) wasn't something I ever gave a lot of thought to when I was younger or had any appreciation for. But about the time my daughter was born I discovered Buena Vista Social Club. The music spoke to me in a way that moved my soul. I realized I wanted my daughter to know that part of herself. So I began exploring that part of my culture. Over the years it's become more and more a part of my identity. Something that I've become fiercely proud of and a part of myself I want to keep learning about.

   So I posted that picture everywhere so I'd see it constantly. I thought maybe I'd get sick of it. But I didn't. Next came the search for the right Tat artist.

   That in itself is another story. But suffice it to say that the universe lead me to the most amazing artist and someone I was glad to have part of my journey. He was not only an incredibly talented artist but a truly fascinating person with a lovely spirit. He was exactly the person I would want as part of this spiritual journey. The other person along for the ride was my fabulous supportive daughter, River. I'm sure it crossed her mind that her mother was losing her's. But she never expressed it. She sat right by my side for the entire 2.5 hours it took to do. I'm not gonna lie, there were times it hurt - a lot. But kinda like having a baby - the minute it was done - the pain was totally forgotten. I loved it even more than I thought I would. It was so beautiful I wanted to cry. I couldn't stop looking at it.

  It's been 2 and a half months and I still smile every time I look at it. I wonder what it will look like when I'm 70, but I know one thing. I'm still going to love it.