I get down in the dumps a lot… often… almost daily. This is because I have severe depression coupled with a whole lotta anxiety. One minute I can be quilling it and writing my best life, and seconds later, I can feel like I’m going no where, and my dreams are unattainable. It’s exhausting. I combat these blues by working in my garden, going on long walks with my dogs, reading great books, and talking with my hubby or super hero therapist. Even with all of these outlets, it’s still exhausting.

Perhaps, my depression stems from my fears of success… not that I will be successful. On the contrary, my fear is that I will never be successful enough. Then, my anxiety drop kicks me in the head, and I start spiraling into a scarcity complex. “What if I never publish a book in the traditional way? What if I never write another book? What if I’m just wasting my time, talent, and breath? What if….” It’s relentless.

A better question for me to ponder, instead of the incessant queries above, is what is my definition of success? Will I feel successful when I get a traditional book contract? Probably not. Will I feel successful when I have a cover reveal? Not really. Will I finally feel successful when I sell all the copies of the book I want to sell? I doubt it.

See, my definition of success isn’t really entwined in getting a book published. In fact, that’s a tiny part of the puzzle. I want to write great books. I want to touch minds and hearts with the flow of the words on the pages. I want my sentences to be living, breathing art that long out live me. I guess in the end, I want to be remembered.

Isn’t that really the point? What if the point of wanting to be successful is because I’m afraid of being forgotten, abandoned, not enough. What if all this work is to prove I am worth it, dang it? What if I’m looking at this picture with the wrong set of lenses? What if success isn’t really the point?

The more I contemplate this, the more I come to realize that I’m striving to be somebody great, but instead, I should strive to do something great. Not because it makes me popular. Not because it makes the crowd applaud my efforts. Not because it gives me credibility. Doing something great, regardless of the recognition… now, there’s a novel idea. An idea planted in my head by Ryan Holiday in the book Ego is the Enemy (which I’m reviewing on Monday).

So, where does this leave me? I’m not entirely certain. One thing I know for sure, I don’t want to stay stuck in this rut that is my misguided definition of success. Maybe the point of this post, dear reader, is to say I don’t have it all figured out. Maybe I never will. But… at least I’m trying.