Why I've Given Up on Success

and it feels great.

Earlier this week, I started training for a half marathon. This is not some great flex of my athletic prowess. At this juncture, I can barely run a mile, a fact that asserted itself after three whole blocks.

My entry is a holdover from a race originally scheduled for March 2020, a time when life had a different shape. I used to run back then. I used to do a lot of things. But much has changed, my cardiovascular fitness the latest addition to a very long list.

The rescheduled race date moved — once, twice — but my body did not. I was thoroughly prepared to forfeit my entry fee when a thought arrived.

“Well, let me just try.”

Footage of me, trying.

Every morning, I’m greeted by a world that doesn’t look the same as it did before. As the day unfolds, it presents a recurring challenge — stop longing to go back; start learning to move forward.

At the most basic level, I’m afraid to race because I’m afraid to fail. I’m scared I won’t be able to finish and will run right off the course. I’m scared I’ll “embarrass myself,” even though no one cares about my performance. I’m afraid to have to let go of one more piece of who I used to be.

These fears feel like relics from the Before Times, that old glorification of striving. But if so much has changed — if I can’t move about the world in the same way I once did — isn’t it time to release the old beliefs, too?

Measuring our lives against the metric of success vs. failure leaves an awful lot to be desired. What is “success,” anyway? If you ask ten different people, you’re likely to get about as many answers. There’s the straightforward, dictionary definition: “the accomplishment of an aim or purpose.” There’s the loaded, capitalist meaning, tied to status and titles and the trappings of material wealth. Somewhere beyond that is the Emersonian definition: “to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived.”

However you define it, success is often posited as a destination. When you get there, you’ll know. Everything will feel better, firmer, “figured out,” as life magically clicks into place. But of course, this is a myth.

To me, success is a moving target, often informed by someone else’s standards. If I love what I do, but experience periods of financial insecurity, is that “success”? Or write a book that’s well-reviewed but doesn’t sell? Or share something I love and feel proud of that prompts a slew of unsubscribes?

It’s easy to cling to the quantifiable — grades, salaries, followers, race times. Numbers are easy to compare. Numbers make it easy to want more.

Kindly graffiti, perfect for struggling runners.

By most measures, my first attempt at training was an epic failure. My right shoe immediately started to eat my sock. The wind threatened to blow my cap off my head. I spent more time walking than running. Yet somehow, it felt amazing.

As I scuttled along, I realized that I’m actually not after success, however you define it. What I’m after is aliveness. Aliveness is where the good stuff lives. The worthwhile, Mary-Oliver-poem stuff.

Aliveness is present for the big moments — the courageous, triumphant, award-winning ones — and also the tiny, unseen victories. There is ample aliveness in failure, too, as well as in loss and struggle. Emotions, including those we label as less desirable, are often aliveness in action. The evidence that you loved. You dared. You tried. You lived.

I’ve often found it curious that in a culture so devoted to productivity and consumption, those we remember as making the greatest impact on our lives, or the world at large, aren’t necessarily the most “successful.” They are often those who live with kindness, courage, originality, honesty, authenticity. In the words of beloved Buddhist monk, teacher, and peace activist Thich Nhat Hanh, who we said goodbye to last week at the age of 95, “My actions are my only true belongings.” That, I think, is the true shape of success. The legacy of doing.

I don’t know what the point of existence is, but I doubt that one reaches the end of life only to receive a medal for having succeeded. Having lived, on the other hand, is its own reward.

Up on the bridge, calves burning, cold air in my throat, racing seemed like a bit of a fool’s errand. And maybe it still is. But I remembered why I started running in the first place — because few things make me feel more alive.

We may not control what happens, but we can control how we react to it. We can control what we value. We can control what we do. Amidst the shifting variables, trying is a goal that’s always worth it. So today, and in the days that follow, let us try.

Card of the Week

Here is this week’s card for the collective, as well as some thoughts to carry into the days ahead. As most modern readers will tell you, the tarot is not about fortunetelling, nor is it about neat, definitive answers. The cards are simply one path to reflection, a way of better knowing ourselves and others through universal themes. If this reading resonates with you, great! And if not, no worries. Take whatever may be helpful and leave the rest.

Featuring the NYC Tarot Deck by Magickal Michelle

There’s this post that’s been making its way around social media — perhaps you’ve seen it. It says, “Creative people need time to just sit around and do nothing.” I took a screenshot of it a while back, initially to assuage the guilt I felt in stolen moments of downtime. But every time I saw it go by, it left a deeper impression.

I love the idea that our minds are working even (and especially) when our bodies are not. Even if you don’t identify as a “creative person,” it still holds true. Your brain is always coming up with ideas, finding solutions, breaking new ground, including when you’re at rest. It’s like how inspiration will visit you in the shower.

The Chariot is all about momentum. It reminds us that we are always moving forward, even when we aren’t in motion.

In many decks, this card is depicted as a literal chariot, pulled by sphinxes or horses or tigers. (Oh my.) This particular version strikes a chord, because it reminds me of all the yellow taxis I’ve taken over the years — to job interviews and events, through storms and traffic, away from terrible dates.

We tend to see life as a series of events and encounters. Big moments reign supreme, and it can be easy to discount what happens “on the way.” But a lot takes place in these liminal spaces. Much of our lives are spent in the in-betweens — between events, between decisions, between moments.

The Chariot urges you to look not only where you’re going, but where you are. Gaze out the window, take in the scenery. Feel your feet on the ground, the air on your skin. Take a glance in the rearview mirror, at where you’ve been. If you’re looking for a sign or guidepost, it might be just beyond your view.

This card reminds us to not discount the process. There is value to be found in the wading, marinating, fact-finding parts of life. There is value in the doing and the trying. Sometimes the dots connect in ways you cannot see until you’re finally able to zoom out.

The Chariot says you’re on your way — even when the route is circuitous or the road is beset with challenges. You don’t have to know exactly where you’re headed, or how you’re going to get there.

Maybe you have detailed directions. Maybe you’re currently lost. Maybe you feel quite stagnant. Wherever you may be, the next moment is on its way. (And the next, and the next.) The natural order continues, the story always unfolding.

This card urges us not to worry so much about the logistics. Fix your eye on the horizon and let The Chariot do the rest. It will carry you where you need to go.

---

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed this letter and would like to receive future installments in your inbox every Sunday, please consider becoming a subscriber.