The Gift of Merci

Chapter 5 - Success Beyond Standards

"Life is quite a long journey. You learn at every step. If you try to be very fast at the beginning, you will be very late at the end. You need lots of practice and a long marathon to be a good marathon runner but in sprint, you can be fast but only for a short period. Sometimes you have to sprint in your life to feel yourself and your position. From a marathon, you can learn that everything is possible in life." I smiled while reading the last passage of my English task.

Not because it's true — but because it's finally done. But yes. I find this thought of mine provoking. Is this really how I define life? A race? A competition? Maybe, yes. For much of my life, I've been aware of my tendency to compare, compete, and be jealous of others (thinking that I don't measure up).

When I think about the moments when I want to become more fit, get 2400 in SAT, graduate at the top of my class, or land a six-figure job in JP Morgan after graduating from college. And maybe, the answer is NO. Because sometimes, all you have to do is to try be better than your previous you. It's all about learning and relearning. I sighed.

I went to my study room and started practicing my speech for oral recitation this morning. Again and again. I have to go through this war. I have to fight my anxiety with public speaking. I can do this. And it's nearing 7:40 AM. It's finally my turn. My chest tightens up with panic and my head starts to spin.

"Self, you can do this," 

I started delivering my speech and It went well.

"Nice presentation, Sage! I'll give you 48/50"

"T-Thank you, Sir," I can't help but stutter. 48 was not good, I swear. I stuttered a lot, lost my focus, and couldn't even concentrate on the question.

I deserve more.

Tears started to fall. I can't. I have screwed again. I feel like I can't fight another minute. I find myself sinking deeper into a dark place within my mind. The conversation with myself took a sharp turn, spiraling further into a pit of self-doubt and despair.

"Why can't I do anything right?" I whispered to myself, my voice choked with emotion. "No matter how hard I try, I never seem to measure up to my own expectations. I'm constantly pushing myself, but it's never enough."

My brother tried to offer solace, but the weight of my perceived failure was too heavy to ignore. "You're being too hard on yourself," he said gently. "You did well in your presentation. 48/50 is impressive."

"No, it's not," I retorted, my voice laced with frustration. "I stuttered, I lost my train of thought, and I couldn't even focus on the question. How is that impressive?"

"It's just one presentation," he reasoned. "You're allowed to have off days. Everyone makes mistakes. It doesn't define your worth or your capabilities."

"But I'm a perfectionist," I confessed, my vulnerability laid bare. "I can't handle anything less than perfection. And when I fall short, it feels like my whole world is falling apart."

The alarm on my phone rang, signaling the start of my planned breakdown. I found myself curled up on the floor, tears streaming down my face, consumed by a sense of hopelessness.

"You're strong, Sage," he reassured, its tone desperate to offer comfort. "You've faced difficult moments before and come out stronger. This is just another setback, and it doesn't mean you're a failure."

But the weight of my self-imposed expectations was crushing, suffocating me with a sense of inadequacy. I felt trapped in a cycle of perpetual self-criticism, unable to break free from the grip of my own mind.

"I just want to be better," I admitted, my voice trembling with emotion. "I want to prove to myself and to everyone else that I'm capable, that I'm enough."

"You are enough," he insisted. "You don't have to prove anything to anyone. Your worth isn't determined by grades, achievements, or external validation. You are inherently valuable just as you are."

But in that moment of despair, I couldn't bring myself to believe those words. The burden of perfectionism had become too ingrained, leaving little room for self-compassion.

As the minutes ticked by, I found myself caught in a whirlwind of emotions – anger at myself for not meeting my own standards, sadness at feeling like a failure, and frustration at not being able to break free from this cycle.

"I don't know how to change," I whispered, feeling defeated.

"I don't know how to stop this relentless need to be perfect."

"Recovery and healing take time. We can start by being kinder to ourselves, by challenging those negative thoughts, and by seeking support from others."

As the conversation came to an uneasy pause, I knew that the road ahead would be arduous. 

From that moment on, I know something is amiss and I feel like I am going crazy.

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Success, as I've come to realize, is a deeply personal concept, entirely relative to each individual's journey. Some disdain their jobs, feeling trapped in repetitive tasks, while others revel in the excitement, finding their roles fascinating and enviable. Success, it seems, is indeed relative.

Amid these varied viewpoints, we often overlook our accomplishments. Focused on others' achievements, we set unreasonably high standards, failing to recognize the significance of our contributions. I remember my days as a part-time career hopper, perpetually seeking the 'right' job. Each new role left me unsatisfied as if I were perpetually struggling, never thriving.

Reflecting on this discontentment, I realized the issue wasn't the jobs themselves but rather my perspective. Colleagues viewed my roles as ideal, a professional destination they aspired to reach. Yet, those roles weren't my calling; they were stepping stones in my journey.

Driven by this realization, I delved into a relentless job search, browsing online, scanning classifieds, and seeking referrals. I craved not just a job but a career—a vocation that would resonate deeply, a place I'd want to remain until retirement. Then, it struck me—a profound wisdom from Confucius: "Choose a job you love, and you will never have to work a day in your life."

With this mantra, I revised my job prospects, emphasizing not just income or future promotions but also finding a role where I could work tirelessly because I loved the task and proudly declared it as my vocation. A career that would define my success. Years into the job I chose, I continue to relish each moment. The thrill of my first days persists—the keystrokes, the initial paychecks, the camaraderie. Yet, colleagues have departed, seeking their paths toward success.

Success, I've learned, is a personal narrative. It's not dictated by others' definitions or societal norms. We're the authors of our stories, accountable for every chapter we script. There's no universal formula for a 'dream job.' It's not about a company's profile or salary; it's about finding fulfillment in doing what you love, day after day. Our success isn't determined by those around us—it's self-defined.

Ultimately, it's our journey, our struggles, and our victories. Each step we take contributes to our narrative, shaping our definition of success. Success is relative—our own tale to write.