The Measure of Success
When the given way to success is not your way,
And the arrows point so as to wound your heart,
It is hard to walk with purpose.
When the one-size-fits-all shoes do, in fact, not fit but pinch,
You long to stray
Through cool wet grass,
Shaking off the coat of expectation,
Exploring new sensations.
Ignoring the shouts of disagreement,
That signal failure to cope with differences.
It is not selfish
To want to know what we are,
To place ourselves.
Success is quiet, not showy.
Rows and rows of tiny achievements
Joined up like little stitches on a shawl
To wrap around ourselves
And hug tight, thinking,
I’ve done this and I’ve done that.
To afford time to feel
Settled and grounded –
To discover something that is purely you
And no one else
It is the best kind of success.
That inner germ of you-ness
With miniature tendrils quietly climbing
Just enough to curl around and hold onto a small life.
– And it is small.
It sits in a big world –
To find a place in this world and be happy to be small
Where the measure of success and the greatest achievement
Is peace within the folds of a calmer self,