Redefining Success

With award lists and contest announcements, a flurry of new book deals and agent signings, there’s conversation in the writing community regarding “success”. What does it mean to be a successful creator? How do you know when your book is a success? 

Defining success or wondering how we know we’re successful isn’t unique to the publishing world, of course. I thought about this too much in my previous life in the tech industry. It’s a topic most of us think about (and maybe obsess over) our whole lives. 

Maybe you, like me, have found yourself saying, "If I can just achieve this one thing, or get to this one place, I'll be happy. I'll have made it. I'll feel fulfilled." 

And maybe you, like me, found that when you reached the goal you thought would make you happy, it never really did make you happy. When this happened to me, I felt a temporary high that I thought was fulfillment. But once that flash-in-the-pan achievement-high faded (and it often faded quickly), I felt empty again. So, I’d make up a new goal that I was certain this time would be the marker of success and happiness.

My husband and I celebrating my bucket list achievement with dole whip :)

Enter the term “moving goal post.” 

When I first thought about writing as a career, I was convinced that once I had that elusive book deal life would be a fairy tale from then on. Obviously, right? In a lot of ways, that belief fueled my progress. It was the promise of something better, something more aligned to my values.

Then a funny thing happened, which led to two epiphanies. 

In January, I achieved a big bucket list goal (not writing related). For the first time, instead of feeling like I had to set another goal immediately after achieving one, I felt happy. I felt at peace. I felt content. I’ve never felt that way after achieving something. Why? Epiphany One: Most of the goals I’ve chased before weren’t aligned to my values, and as a result, I would move the goal post after the flash-in-the-pan high went away.

Aside from a small group of people, no one knew I accomplished this bucket list goal. I thought about posting pictures and mentally planned the accompanying caption, but I realized I didn’t need to share this with anyone. This was an achievement and moment just for me. And that felt damn good. Epiphany Two: Validation from myself is the true marker of success (instead of valuing perceived markers of success, which are often externally driven or visible, like a job title or award).

All of this reminded me of one of my favorite quotes from the amazing movie, Cool Runnings:

“A gold medal is a wonderful thing, but if you're not enough without it, you'll never be enough with it.”

As it relates to my writing, the “gold medal” is publication, best sellers, a wildly successful series… but as the quote says, if I’m not enough (or my writing isn’t enough) without those things, it won’t matter what “success” bar I reach. The goal post will keep moving as I try to chase “enough.”

Taking a cue from the bucket list epiphanies, I’m redefining success for myself as a writer so that I am enough right now. Creative expression is one of my values. Not awards or book deals or contest wins. It’s writing. It’s story. With that in mind, success for me means writing what I want to write, finding joy in that journey, and loving what I write regardless of what anyone else thinks. If writing is first and foremost for me, it will always be a success. 

Don't get me wrong. The career I want to build is 100% as a prolific traditionally published author, but knowing my writing is enough takes the pressure off my dream. It takes pressure off the illusion of time being limited to achieve my dream. It takes pressure off the words I write and the things I'm doing to further my dreams so that I can create from a place of peace and joy.

This doesn’t mean I don’t feel disappointment, frustration, or heck, even some hopelessness when I get rejected or something doesn’t go quite my way. What it means is disappointments and successes don’t define my worth as a creator. I’m the only one who can define that. And I choose to believe that my writing is enough even if I never reach my gold medal writing dreams.

That, my friends, feels like success to me.

Perfection Pie

This is the pumpkin pie I made for Friendsgiving this year. 

As I was placing the decorative letters, I knew I was in trouble when I got to the “N.” The overlapping “S” on the right pumpkin, and the spacing between the “F” and the left pumpkin nearly drove me to toss the pie in the trash and start over.

When I lifted the soft cutouts to fix the decorations, they were already melting into the hot surface of the pie. The pie skin broke. The cutout ripped and mushed. Each of my attempts to make the pie perfect only broke down the structure of the very thing I wanted to perfect.

As I stressed and fretted and judged myself for my imperfect pie, I had a moment of clarity. And thankfully, I could laugh at the irony of the metaphor this pie was for my struggle with perfectionism.

The more I try to be perfect, and the more I try to make my output perfect (whether it's creative work, professional work, culinary experiments, etc.), the more wear and tear I place on myself and the further from “perfect” I get.

Around the same time as Friendsgiving, I was preparing to go to a writing workshop in early December. My perfectionism was in overdrive. I wanted to impress my mentors and bring pages that were perfect, but recent feedback indicated they needed work. Trouble was, I didn't know how to fix the pages, and the story likely needed a full rewrite.

I panicked.

But I didn't keep my panic to myself. I shared my dilemma with my writer friends; how could I bring pages that were anything but perfect to a workshop where I wanted to impress?

I wasn’t prepared for what they told me.

To paraphrase: Don't rewrite anything. Bring the story as it is because your best is enough. The purpose of the workshop isn’t to have perfect pages. The purpose is to learn from others and revise. Nothing more, nothing less.

My best is enough.

What a concept!

Logically, what my friends were saying about the purpose of the workshop made sense. So, I challenged myself to adopt this mantra, even if I didn't fully believe my “best” was enough. I brought my pages as they were, and after the first two critique sessions (out of four), I decided to give on-the-fly revision a try. Like clockwork, I hated everything I wrote. My pages read like a Frankenstein of all the feedback swirling in my brain. 

I panicked.

I was afraid that if I brought my revision attempt to the third critique session, my mentor and peers would see I wasn't good enough. I was afraid they would think my story premise was great, but I wasn't good enough to write it. As I debated bringing my revision to the group, I thought back to the mantra.

My best is enough.

I did the scary thing and brought the revised pages. And again, as the feedback I received from that session swirled in my head that night, I was convinced my next revision attempt would surely prove to my final critique group that I was a fraud. My revised pages were more Frankensteined than before! I wasn't even sure they were coherent! As before, I debated bringing my revision to the group, and thought back to the mantra.

My best is enough.

But this time, I didn't think about the mantra in relation to my pages. I thought about it in relation to myself. Who did I want the critique group to see? How did I want to show up? I wanted my final critique group to see someone willing to put in the hard work. I wanted them to see someone who wasn't afraid to try a revision, even if it didn't work out. I wanted them to see someone who cared, just like I wanted to show my friends that I cared through my Friendsgiving pumpkin pie. I wanted to show that I’m someone who puts her heart into her stories and characters and every word, even if the words on the page or the pie aren’t perfect.

Because I am enough. I was enough starting from the moment I came screaming into this world. And if I'm enough, then my best is enough, too.

The kicker to all of this is that perfection is limiting. We like to think that if we can achieve perfection, then the world is our oyster. But if we don’t take the risk, or do the thing we want to do until we, or our output, is perfect, then we’ll never actually do the thing we want, or go after the dreams we have. Why? Because perfection doesn’t exist. And if we spend time chasing something that doesn’t exist, what we’re really doing is limiting ourselves from opportunities and growth.

Another culinary adventure - reindeer truffles! None quite turned out the way I imagined, making it a great way to challenge myself to adopt the concept of “my best is enough.”

If I only allowed myself to bring a perfect pie to Friendsgiving, I wouldn’t have brought any pie. If I only allowed myself to bring perfect pages to the workshop, I wouldn’t have brought any pages. I would have missed out on sharing a beloved family recipe with my friends, and I would have missed out on an opportunity to strengthen a story that’s so dear to my heart.

Chasing perfection is limiting (and it doesn’t exist).

I almost ended this post with the results. Did my friends like the pie? Did the final critique group like my revised pages? But I realized my results-oriented mindset and my perfectionism fuel each other. If I ended this post with how things turned out, I would only be feeding the beast I’m looking to soothe.

Instead, I’ll say that my pie and my pages were the best I could do at the time, and that next time, my best will look a little different. Because the beauty is, “my best” will evolve. It will improve. From each opportunity “my best” gets, it will learn and gain confidence. 

And, best of all, so will I.