There is a hauntress that I can never seem to get away from. I’m not sure where she came from or from what she took her form.
I have suspicion that she emerged from the swamps of our dear capitalism. Grew arms and legs in the crevices of our excellence and lips to whisper into our ear “if you are not a success story then are you anything?”
She glides around me in her noble garments taunting me with her stately, dignified opposition to mediocrity. I am endlessly tempted to reach for her with both hands, but I know to do so, I would have to let go of what I am.
What I am and what I want to be. Full of joy and wonder and endless curiosity. I know full well that the greatest problems I have are thinking that I actually have any.
Success is my hauntress and she is good at what she does. She’ll keep me awake at night convincing me what I have is not nearly enough. She tells me I have things to prove to the world so that I will be able to believe them about myself. That I must become their idol to know that I am meant for something here on God’s green earth.
However there are things that she, Success, will never understand. Happiness for one, will never be hers. It belongs only to those moved by curiosity and stilled by love. To those who know that joy lives in the heart not in the hands. They are not fooled by prestige for they know everything they do is simple and that is what makes it grand.
If somewhere along your journey you have a run in with Success, thank her graciously for her favor, and then tell her kindly you must be on your way. There are far too many beautiful things for our souls to encounter to settle in to her stay.
Your humanity is a stitching of dreams. Things undiscovered that lie in dormant wait. Will you light your match even if all you are is just a little flame? Or do you need grandeur? Must you become something great? Would you give it all up to write the story that calls your name?
Success will come and go as she pleases, but there are some who pay no mind to her frivolous choosings. They dipped out of that race long ago to discover something of meaning.
They are haunted by an inquisition they find more compelling than she, “what could become of a person who writes their story for the sheer thrill of the storytelling? Who reaches beyond fate to touch the beauty that feels like destiny?” Their existence is daunting and true for it could sum up to absolutely anything.
