Delta Flight Wisdom

What is “success”?

I’ve been pondering this question for about 6 months now, and I still don’t know how to answer it. I still don’t know what it means for me and what it looks like in my life.

Last August I sat in the middle seat on a Delta flight from Los Angeles to Tokyo en route to moving back to BJ for another year. I sat next to a gentleman from Thailand who looked to be in his late thirties. To be honest, I usually try to avoid talking to the people sitting next to me on long flights because then I feel obliged to keep up the conversation for the next 12 hours when really I would just rather like to sleep or watch 4 movies in a row. But the second I sat down in my seat, before the plane had even pulled away from the gate, this man struck up a conversation with me. This conversation did not radically change my life, but it has stayed with me ever since and has come to mind often over the last few months. He told me about how he used to be a popular musician back in Thailand, how he came to know God, and how he now works in the hotel business and has a family. I don’t remember the details of his story but I remember very clearly a question he asked me. I remember it well because he answered the question himself, but his answer was unlike anything I had ever heard before. If you read my blog regularly you might have read my post back in September about this very question (click here). He dropped his question and answer right in the middle of our conversation. It almost seemed out of context. He said it, then moved on. I was puzzled by his statement. But little did I know that it could not have been in a more perfect context – the context of what was happening and what was to happen in my life.

He said, “How do you define ‘success’? For me, I would answer that with another question: How many times a week do you have tears of joy?”

For the past few months I have struggled with trying so desperately to feel satisfied with myself and my life. I’ve tried so hard to understand why I do not feel like I have achieved some sort of level of success or attained even a slight sense of accomplishment. Again and again I have struggled with self-esteem, with contentment, with having peace, and with knowing that I am valuable and have contributed value. I should feel successful. I am twenty years old and while I may not have created a popular internet company or raised a million dollars for a charity, I am still pretty accomplished. By looking at my resume, I should feel at least somewhat successful. If not that than at least I should feel somewhat satisfied with my work. At eighteen I became the personal assistant to a consultant to the UN. At nineteen I helped develop from scratch the Communications department at an international social enterprise. I aced the final exam at a graduate level workshop on strategic nonprofit development and management taught by professors from Harvard and Boston University. At twenty I got promoted to executive assistant to the CEO of a developing socially conscious company that creates sustainable employment for formerly exploited women. Last week I sat with a group of MBA students from Northwestern University and helped them develop their business idea. “Thank you for your time. You really were a great help. We appreciate you being willing to meet with us” were the words from one of their professors. I live independently in a world capital city. I know people doing great things and get to be a part of their work. I do not say these things to brag about myself, but to simply make a point. Because even with all these “cool things” I have done and meaningful experiences I've had, somehow I am still unaccomplished. I still do not feel successful. Sometimes I feel like I haven't achieved anything of value, done anything of lasting worth, or amounted to anything important. And I am often left to wonder, “What’s the point of it all? What am I even trying to achieve? What on earth is this idea of ‘success’? Will I ever succeed?” Because I know that even if I became a UN consultant myself or if I got a full ride to Harvard without even applying or if I helped a thousand people, I still would not feel satisfied with my achieved endeavors.

But tears of joy…they were present at times I felt like success – the attainment of something good – had been achieved…that time I caught my reflection in a passing bus and smiled at the revelation that a young woman living her childhood dream stared back at me…that time I looked up and saw how comfortable Xiao Zhang's smile was and the light that now shone in her eyes…that time I waited for an eternity at the bus stop giving me enough time think about how funny and crazy my life is…that time when I watched my boss and dear friend declare with confidence who she was and walk in the truth of who the Father made her to be…that time when I looked around the room at my community here and felt like I had come home for the first time…that time when I sat around a table of nonprofit leaders and I felt like I belonged there not because of my intelligence or my skill but because it simply made me feel alive…that time when the light turn back on in my friend’s eyes as she soaked up the love of the Father…that time…that time… that time… It wasn't about my impressive resume or how many people I had empowered or helped. It’s about remembering that my identity isn't found in what I do. It was about crying tears of joy – realizing that life is ridiculously hard, painful, and most of the time full of failure but that good things still do happen, that my heart though getting tougher each day is still soft enough to recognize love in a world of roughness, to remember that being able to laugh at yourself is sometimes the best solution to life’s problems, and that when my best isn't good enough the world will keep on spinning, babies will keep on being born, and my God will keep on being good and having His way in my life. 

What is ‘success’? I still don’t really know. But what I do know is that when indefinable wonder wets my eyes, I’ll try to take in the moment for all it’s worth.