Who Told Us This Was Success?

This picture was taken during our family vacation in New Mexico.

My boys found a giant ear of corn.

Naturally, they climbed it.

They weren’t thinking about tomorrow.

They weren’t worried about whether the moment was productive.

They weren’t trying to create a core memory.

They were simply living one.

Somewhere between childhood and adulthood, I think we lose that.

Not all at once.

Quietly.

We become really good at planning life…

and surprisingly bad at living it.

We’re taught to keep moving.

The next promotion.

The next paycheck.

The next milestone.

The next version of ourselves.

There is always another mountain to climb.

And the moment we reach the top, someone conveniently points out an even taller one.

It’s almost impressive, honestly.

But…

Who told us this was success?

I don’t remember agreeing to that definition.

Don’t get me wrong.

I love ambition.

I love learning.

I love solving problems.

I love building things that matter.

I still have big dreams.

I still want to accomplish incredible things.

I’m not about to become a woman with no goals and one houseplant.

Although… no judgment if that’s your dream.

Ambition isn’t the problem.

What I’ve started questioning is the belief that more automatically means better.

More money.

More responsibility.

More recognition.

More commitments.

More everything.

Until one day we look around and realize we’ve built a life we’re constantly trying to take a vacation from.

Lately, I’ve been reading about people turning down higher-paying positions.

Not because they weren’t qualified.

Not because they lacked ambition.

Because they finally asked a different question.

At what cost?

That question has been following me around lately.

Not because I’ve stopped wanting more.

Because I’ve started defining “more” differently.

One of the biggest changes I’ve made this year wasn’t adding more to my life.

It was editing it.

I edited my schedule.

I edited where my time goes.

I edited who receives it.

I edited the commitments that automatically received a “yes” before I ever stopped to ask whether they deserved one.

And something unexpected happened.

The more intentional I became with my time…

the more peaceful I became.

That wasn’t a coincidence.

I think time and peace are connected.

We budget our money.

We count calories.

We track our steps.

Yet somehow, we hand out our time like Costco is running a buy one, get 2 free special.

There isn’t another shipment coming.

Every yes costs something.

Sometimes it’s an hour.

Sometimes it’s your energy.

Sometimes it’s the patience your kids were going to get later that evening.

Sometimes it’s your peace.

Time is the only currency we spend without checking the balance.

That realization changed the way I look at almost everything.

I used to think peace would arrive once everything was finished.

Then I met laundry.

And dishes.

And email.

Turns out they all signed a lifelong commitment to job security.

Peace doesn’t happen by accident.

It happens on purpose.

You have to leave room for it before everything else volunteers to take its place.

Sometimes that means saying no.

Sometimes it means protecting an evening with nothing planned.

Sometimes it means sitting on the porch with a cup of coffee, watching the clouds move, listening to the birds, and watching Benji sniff the exact same patch of grass.

From the outside, it probably doesn’t look like much.

But I’ve realized changing your perspective changes what you notice.

The world didn’t suddenly become more peaceful.

I simply started paying attention to different things.

Instead of asking,

“What’s next?”

I started asking,

“What’s here?”

Instead of measuring my days by how much I accomplished…

I started paying attention to whether I was actually present while I was living them.

Funny enough…

the to-do list never complained.

It was still waiting for me the next morning.

Very dependable, actually.

I’ve also realized we become whatever we repeatedly measure.

If we only measure promotions…

we’ll always feel behind.

If we only measure productivity…

rest will always feel like failure.

If we only measure more…

“enough” never has a chance.

Maybe we’ve been using the wrong scoreboard.

That’s been the experiment for me.

Not trying to become someone else.

Trying to see my life through a different lens.

Questioning assumptions.

Paying attention instead of operating on autopilot.

Asking where my beliefs came from before accepting them as truth.

Because just because something is common doesn’t mean it’s healthy.

Just because everyone is busy doesn’t mean busy is the goal.

Just because everyone is chasing something doesn’t mean it’s worth chasing.

When I look at this picture from New Mexico, I don’t just see a vacation.

I see presence.

I see two little boys who weren’t worried about tomorrow.

I see a moment that didn’t need to accomplish anything to matter.

And I realized something.

I’m not trying to build a life that looks successful.

I’m trying to build one that feels meaningful.

One where ambition still has a seat at the table…

but peace does too.

One where I can keep growing without constantly feeling like I’m behind.

Behind whom, exactly?

No one ever seems to answer that part.

Maybe the goal isn’t to escape your life once or twice a year.

Maybe it’s to build one you don’t constantly need to escape from.

I’m still figuring that out.

That’s the experiment.

Food for Thought

What are you chasing… and who told you it was worth chasing in the first place?