Successful Party Girl?

Successful: having attained wealth, position, honors or the like

I had someone recently ask me if I was a party girl.  He asked this in response to my statement that I was unfit to teach Sunday School.  I chuckled as I hit the Send button.  It was a logical assumption on his part.  But incorrect nonetheless.

I enjoy being outside at my favorite bars with my good friends.  This atmosphere has been overall a place of joy and comfort to me.  I'm with my best friends.  Sharing a beverage of choice.  Relaxed, laughter flowing, the sun shining, good music playing (mostly), and worries left somewhere outside.  Banned because they aren't yet drinking age.  Worries are definitely teenagers who have no business inside a bar.  At least not at the bars I frequent.

I suppose to someone that isn't accustomed to the typical bar life, the image of drunkenness and tears and abuse and anger comes to mind.  Strangers connecting in dysfunctional and destructive ways.  Negativity overshadowing the possibility of anything positive.  And I'm sure this is the case at times.  But I've experienced that at the gym, church, the grocery store, sitting in traffic, at a kid's birthday party, at a school board meeting, at a staff meeting.  These attributes aren't expressly specific to a bar.

The underlying question that he wanted to ask was "are you successful?"  or "do you have your shit together?" because of course the ability to be fit to teach Sunday School is a mark of success.

And the answer would have been...

"It depends on your definition of successful."

To most people, success is determined by the house we live in, the cars we drive, the amount of money we are paid for our worth, the title we are given.  It is summed up in an unspoken word when we walk into a fancy restaurant.  Do we look important?  Is our hair neatly styled?  Do our clothes fit well? Are we in shape?  Is our jewelry appropriately paired? Are our shoes modern?  Are they good quality?  Do we have our nails done?  Lipstick on?  The newest iPhone?  Do we carry ourselves like we know our worth?  Is our bag a name brand?  Do we know anyone in the place?  Do they know us?  Can we afford to be in a place like this?

And if we're a parent, the list of criteria extends to our children.

This isn't the definition to only most people....I would almost say that it is a universal definition.  Whether we like to admit it or not.  If we have somehow escaped this paradigm, we are one of the lucky chosen.

I have been a boss for most of my life.  I have typically been in some position of management.  Whether that place be a classroom, business, restaurant, home; I have taken positions that required me to manage other people.  Because that to me, meant that I was successful to some degree.

When I left the business world to pursue cleaning houses, it was a bit of a shock to my high-heel wearing, perfume smelling self.  Instead, I donned tennis shoes and yoga pants and didn't shower before I went to work.

And I had never been happier.

I remember my dad saying to me that I could make this thing HUGE!  I could buy vans and hire teams of people and have a huge operation.  And we had a great time dreaming.  It excited me.  So being drunk with the idea of success, I kept taking on more clients.  More than I could handle alone.  Which made me hire my first employee.  And another.  And another.  And acquire insurance.  And a bookkeeper. And scheduling software.  And a marketing director.   And a receptionist.  And a manager.  And an office.  And multiple desks.  And a telephone system.  And multiple cell phones.  And networking meetings.  And TV commercials. And payroll.  And taxes.  And fancy restaurants.  And expensive drinks.  And vendors.  And bills.  And business accounts.  And financial statements.

And with all of this came my high heels.  And perfume.

And somewhere along the way my happiness found somewhere else to live because he was abandoned in my tennis shoes in my closet and collected dust.  Along with my yoga pants. (Ok, well maybe not those...they are my most favoritest piece of clothing. Til death do us part.)

By most definitions, I was successful.

But happiness alluded me.

The life I had built slowly eroded.  My marriage started falling part.  My anxieties soared to an all-time high.  My consumption of alcohol increased.  My visits to the doctor were more frequent.

I spent a good three years searching for what I once had.

I found it in a small apartment without a husband, in my dusty tennis shoes and of course my faithful yoga pants.  I love those damn things.

I combated the damaging feeling that I was a failure.  I wept about it in therapy.  I wrote about it in my journals.  It invaded every thought I had...I. Had. Failed.

Despite the evidence of my happiness, failure seemed to permeate my thoughts about myself.  One of my dear friends told me I needed to change the title of my blog because there was so much more to me than failed marriages.  My parents agreed.  It was this revelation that made me question my definition of success.

So today, my definition of successful is something like this:

Successful:  having attained joy, perseverance, integrity, contentment, genuine relationships, mind/body/emotional health, or the like.

And the answer to the aforementioned man who asked if I was a party girl would have been.

Why yes, yes I am.