A friend casually mentioned that I’m talented in many areas but not particularly strong in any of them. We were sipping coffee as we conversed, and the comment slipped out somewhere between a bite of scone and a remark about career paths.
The observation might have bothered me in the past, but I took it in stride and felt pretty okay with the analysis.
Thing is, I’m busy exploring and writing and loving and reading and growing. I’m busy living a life I love. And, perhaps more importantly, I’m busy living a life I’m proud of.
Tell me: what use do I have for success?
Success is not a feeling and cannot fill my heart with joy or my days with meaning. If success comes, so be it, but I won’t waste a second regretting its absence.