On Success...

I have to admit, these past few weeks have been more than a little uncomfortable for me. You see, for the past 20 years I have been happy living in my secluded, and largely friend-less (or at least friend-impaired) life (Facebook and blogging--connecting with those of my past--is a little unnerving for me). And perhaps now, more than ever, I find myself trying to evaluate my life and determine whether I am a "success" or not. In fact, and truth be told, I chose not to attend my 20 year high school reunion because I dreaded having to answer the question, "so what do you do for a living?" For those of you who know the events of my business and financial life you will understand; for those of you who don't, let me just say that it was less than stellar. It pains me to say it, but I considered myself a failure at that point in time and didn't want to be reminded of it in conversations with "successful" friends.


But I know better than that. I have believed and taught for years that what you do is not who you are. But still I fell into that trap. So, what is success and how is it measured in one's life? I have a few thoughts on this today.


For twelve years I worked for the State of Utah. I quickly worked my way up the ladder, made some serious career advancements, and found myself sitting on top of the governmental over-worked-under-paid-under-appreciated heap, and fairly happy with it all. But deep down I knew something was missing. You see, I had written a book with my dad in 1995-1996, and knew then, at age 25, what I wanted to be when I grew up.


For years this drive to write consumed my thoughts (and lunch breaks), writing another book with him (The Last Silver Bullet), turning it into a movie screenplay, penning a Destroyer series short story (Unofficial Action), and then finally authoring Lifted Up, all written at home, on the train, or during my lunch hours. And when Lifted Up was published I glimpsed for the first time the fruits of my labors. Sure, there wasn't much money it (I think it came out to under $1 an hour) but my book was in the hands of readers who, for the most part, loved it. I knew it could be done. Nothing was going to stop me. This apparently included leaving my secure, well-paying job.


In 2005 I gave my notice (over the objections of well-meaning family members), and in May found myself self-employed, a small business owner, with little more than his dreams to keep him going. But state employment did little to prepare me for what was waiting for me. To make a long story short (too late, I know), I found myself selling my interest in the business that was going to make me a "success", start a new line of work, only to have projects completed just as the housing and financial markets began their out-of-control tailspin. My life, it seemed, was a failure.


But just when things looked bleak, a ray of light pierced the dark skies and I found myself writing for a company that designs and develops corporate instructional design material. I was writing again, working from home, and at least had the chance to start working on my books again. At the insistence of my dad, I resubmitted our first novel, A Green Hill Far Away (now Shadow Hunter) and to my utter surprise, they loved it, and it was scheduled for publication. Another small success.


But through it all, I often failed to see where my true success lay. During the good times, and especially during the bad, I have never been alone. My wife, my best (and sometimes only) friend never gave up on me and never left my side. She always and continues to believe in me. And then there are my children, who don't really care where we live, or what new toys they have (or don't have), just so long as I'll get down on the floor and play with them. Their love is my greatest success. It is easy to say that family is all that matters to you when you have everything, but when you are faced with quite possibly losing everything you have this truth becomes a reality, and it sinks deep into the recesses of your soul.


For me, this is my success.



--Guy