Their were times in my past when I thought the only success would be artistic -- not that I ever thought I would achieve artistic success, because I didn't. What I thought was that the only thing I would ever count as proof of having succeeded was doing well at some artistic endeavor.
It's a long time ago since I've felt that way. Now I measure success with money and responsibility and recognition of talent and business and intelligence and not necessarily sticking it to the man. Don't get me wrong, I think in my own way I still stick it to the man, I just think I play his game, not my rowdy, anarchistic, crazy-ass girl-power game, while doing it.
Today I achieved the highest level of business and professional success I ever have with a promotion at work...one would think after all my hard work and drive and energy and dedication that I would be happy and proud. And I am.
But, moreso, I'm failing at my success, because in this hour of celebration I am stuck feeling empty and missing that damn beta. I like to imagine he would have wanted to see this moment of glory and to have hooted and hollered and drank champagne with me. I imagine it and it stings and burns and makes me sick, because it's not true. He wouldn't have cared. He wouldn't have been joyous. He wouldn't have loved me or been proud. He would have said all the right things, put on a grand smile, then sulked off into the corner when I wasn't looking to go online to talk to his other girlfriend. And I would have been so content and felt so connected to him and to the power of building our lives together. Even in my elation I would have been failing at my success.
So, option 1 -- which is no longer an option -- stay with beta in a phony life where I am hopelessly clueless to the fact that everything I believe is real is a lie. OR. Option 2 -- where I am -- stay with me, all alone and hurt; be proud and successful but not be able to escape the emptiness of what's missing that I never actually had.
I'll say it again for effect -- and because it's true -- I'm failing at my success and it hurts like hell.
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2 comments:
Well, yay.
I haven't got any champagne. I've got bourbon and stout. And what with it being a weeknight, I'm going with stout. But let that not count as a reflection on the measure or format of your success.
CONGRATULATIONS - YOU DERSERVE IT!
Oh yes the creative artist vs business man a fun little mind fuck.. I too thought a creative endeavor would be the format of my contribution to the world, mainly because it seemed to be a noble and committed identity to construct. That illusion was shattered long ago - 1998 to be exact. I am not willing to live out of a box... and Rather than being removed from the world with a lens or paint brush as a buffer I want to get in there and touch.... Trouble is I too want the money and the reconciliation of the 2 drives is to be seen one day and I leave that up to the universe
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