Living Without a Net: An Odyssey into Self-Employment (Part XVII): On Defining Success, and Allowing Oneself to Have It

Today’s inspiration comes from Jeremy, who turned me on to Curt Rosengren’s series on defining and measuring success. Curt is one of my co-authors on the More Space project; I’m embarrassed to say I have not been keeping up with the collected wisdom of the folks who are featured in this book. Curt has been on my digital “Need to read” pile, where I put blogs and articles that I really want to take seriously, so I put them away until I have a moment--a moment that never arrives until someone else has to tell me to go read it. I must say, Jeremy, you are one of the best referrers in the Blogosphere.

That said, I was drawn to Curt’s series because I often grapple with definitions of success and find that my own have shifted considerably of late...

I was at a STUNNING wedding this weekend in Big Sur, California. The couple had reserved a sun-drenched point overlooking the ocean, but it wasn’t exactly like an Inglenook commercial: People brought tents to sleep in; the b-friend and I reserved a yurt down the road. We sat in the grass watching the ceremony, the bride was wearing a color I can best describe as orangey copper, the acoustics were less than stellar but we could hear the jokes. As the day wore on, and the sun set behind the cliff, the bride and groom changed into warmer clothes and clunky shoes—all the better to dance in. All of us made intermittent trips to our cars and tents to grab sweaters, top off our wine glasses, dance for a few songs, and then sit and talk in front of a huge bonfire. The music and lights surrounding our campground were powered by a generator that occasionally died on us. No one seemed to care when it did.

I’ve been to many weddings, and this one ranks up there in terms of perfection. I remember thinking this as I lay in a hammock, watching the sunset, the b-friend handing me a slice of “wedding” cake from Trader Joes. There just wasn’t anything I would have changed.

This in itself is unusual. In the past I would have changed, perhaps, everything. I used to go from wedding to wedding with my girlfriends and comment on how, if it had been MY wedding, I would have done things better. Better wine, better dresses, better music, better toilet paper, better relatives. Knowing that I’d set a rather high standard, I held off on putting myself in any position of having others critique my life. I always viewed it as a work in progress, lest anyone mistakenly think I was playing it for real.

Even my ten-year high school graduation was off-limits to me; as I was still in building mode. I was in personal crisis at the time—a tragically broken relationship and no newsworthy career milestones in my wake—just what the hell would I have to report to people! I saw the invite, rolled my eyes and thought, couldn’t they wait just five more years? I’m not ready to be seen.

I hadn’t seen many of the folks at the wedding in a few months, and not for any other reason than I’ve been busting my hump on projects. BlogHer is doing brilliantly, but it ain’t exactly glamorous planning vendor booth placement. Then there are the “food on the table” projects—ones you slog out purely for rent money, and those that will be cool but that are in-progress, in beta mode, not ready to be unleashed onto the world. Being in this mode used to be a real downer for me; there was nothing to tell people. In a previous day I would have called my agent and begged him to sell my book—pronto—I had a wedding to attend. But things are different now. Different in a way that not even I fully understand, but that Curt gets at beautifully.

Curt defines passion as such:
“It's "the energy that comes from bringing more of YOU into what you do. Having work I'm passionate about simply means I'm doing what I was designed to do. I'm doing what comes naturally. I'm doing something that allows the maximum amount of energy to flow through to the end result, because I'm not wasting energy trying to be who and how I'm not."

I imagine that this “different” feeling I have is residual energy shored up by being passionate about the work I’m doing—energy I’m not spending dredging up interest in the menial tasks that I’d attracted before soloing; the energy I once spent attending events, following up with people that I wasn’t particularly interested in, or who weren’t interested in me but that I pursued just in case, more to hedge my bets in case I eventually figured out what I was passionate about.

I caught up with friends after the wedding ceremony who wondered how I was doing, what I was up to. I had no canned statements. Rather, they sounded a bit raw, like they needed some salt. I wondered myself, what have I been up to?

“Working,” I said, not sure how to elaborate. “Doing all kinds of stuff.”

The personal PR mechanism in my brain was on the blink. I thought of all of my fun projects--the things that I was in the midst of launching and that pushed me to work late into the evening and on weekends--but they didn’t translate into anything very exciting in the recounting of them.

One friend asked me, “Are you making any money?” It wasn’t a nasty question. He really wanted to know.

“Sometimes,” I said. “Enough.”

I caught up with a friend about her consulting business, which she and her partner ran successfully and are now selling. She had been ill earlier this year and was focusing the past few months on nurturing herself and her body; she looked radiant. She described how being sick had helped her understand a few things, namely about how she wanted to live her life. She was fortunate that selling her business would provide her with the financial resources she would need to take the next step into her soul’s work.

As I listened I couldn’t help but think to myself, “Lucky girl! That’s what I want! The chance to pursue my work without concern about making a living.” I thought about how tired I’d been in the past just working for money, with no personal investment in the outcome. I thought about how I’d always had a plan in the back of my mind that all of the work I was doing in the present was for the purpose of building my future profile, of earning my right to quit the boring stuff and do what I was passionate about, whatever that was.

The feeling that resulted was icky and all too familiar. It was a feeling of dissatisfaction with myself; and it made the sun less shiny. It made me gain five pounds. It made my hair go flat. I’d felt this way earlier in the week when I read about a prominent writer that I know who has followed his dream so effortlessly, to the point where merely writing is a given. He doesn’t worry about getting published; his work is a tool, not an end in itself; a way of getting people to listen, of furthering his purpose. His game has changed to a global playing field. When I get this icky feeling I'm strapped to a seat on the sidelines. Pathetic.

It occurred to me that my work was the only antidote to this feeling, small as that work may seem. And if my work didn’t make me feel better, like I was being put to good use, then it was the wrong work.

Sitting at the bonfire I thought of what I would do if I were my friend selling her business and I had a ticket to financial freedom: Would I stop working? Would I move? What would I buy? I thought of that scene at the end of the film The Jerk when Steve Martin describes his happily ever after. He moves his previously poor family into a new house, but the before and after shots are nearly identical--the porch is maybe three inches longer than it was on the last shack--but you get the feeling that everything has changed.

Here’s the shocker: I wouldn’t change a thing. Even the things I’d like to have, I don’t want now. To get everything would be like a life liposuction, where all of the fat I’ve accumulated just gets sucked off and I’m suddenly thin and uncomfortable in my skin because I didn't do the work. B-friend and I talk about our “ideal life”. We’d buy a house once he got out of school, once I sold a book; but, you know, our current cottage has great light. Our cat likes to curl up in the corner of the room and jump on my lap while I’m working. I don’t imagine this changing in a bigger house; it might be harder to find her and lure her to my desk. I’ve always said, if I wasn't working I would travel for months on end, but I imagine that, eventually, I would have to come back. I may not have to churn out copy quite as regularly, but the thought of not writing is like not breathing. I can’t imagine what else I’d do.

I felt warmth, and I don’t think it came entirely from the bonfire; a sense of rightness, which is very different from perfection or wealth. I thought that arriving at this place would feel different. I thought I would have more money and more time. I thought I wouldn’t have computer issues; that I would stop vowing to lose five pounds. That I’d stop complaining about my cell phone bill or parking fees, or not get uppity when the b-friend used up all of the milk. None of that has happened, I’m afraid, but something—someone—else has started to hang around.

She likes weddings, and Big Sur, and Trader Joe's cheesecake. She’s awkward as all hell and doesn’t always have something good to say. Sometimes she just sits there and looks at things. She’s kind of touchy feely. And she was hanging with me in a hammock this weekend with nothing to say, not one complaint, just grateful for being there, and for having worked hard the week before. She bores me sometimes, but she’s lighter than air, we both fit in that hammock and still have room for more. 

Comments

[Joy DJ]

What a beautiful piece! I'm sending you and that "someone else" that's been hanging around all my love. The more....the merrier. -Mom

[Marilyn]

FABULOUS post!! Especially timely reading for me having just written what I did on my blog this morning. I'm off to check out Curt's blog, too. You know, I've been lurking here for awhile (pre-BlogHer) and kept thinking you were in L.A. for some reason. Weird. Here's hoping we have a chance to meet up in Santa Clara next month.

[Jille]

Jori

What a wonderful description of the wedding. Sounds hippy like. I've been to only a couple of those where everything is perfect, love is in the air and people just hang out and have a wonderful time.

I love the bringing of more "you" into what you're doing so you're happy just where you are.

[nina]

I agree, great post. You are such an inspiration to those of us still slogging away in the corporate world trying to find a way to break free. Can't wait for BlogHer!

[Jeremy]

Not many blogs give me goosebumps or make me laugh out loud...but yours almost always does.

Thanks for the kind words. Now if only I could WRITE like you instead of just referring all the time.

[Lisa Williams]

hey. waitaminute.

I think what you're doing at BlogHer is impressive and important.

No kidding.