The Measure of Success

Imp has many things in this world he wants to do, and he is finally figuring out how to do them. Chase the cat, climb the gate, figure out how to open the entertainment center, knock all his toys off the shelf -- you know, important things. I love watching him when he sees something he wants across the room. You can watch the decision to move form in his face, and then he goes (faster and faster each day), gets that thing, sits down, studies it, and occasionally lets out a gleeful "AAHHH". What delight it is to be able to move and achieve a goal. For months he had to subsist laying on his back or belly, fully at the mercy of his parents, but now, he can get into almost anything he wants, often to the dismay of his parents. But we can't help being proud when he figures something new out, even if it is something we don't particularly want him to do (last night, he figured out how to pull the stopper out of the drain during his bath, for example).

Success in life is measured in many ways. Accolades, awards, degrees, certificates of completion -- all signify that you have achieved in the eyes of others. But what about the simple successes, the day to day achievements. Nobody is going to give you a certificate for getting out of bed in the morning, or eating a healthy breakfast, or just doing the work you are expected to do. These successes may seem mediocre, but they are successes nonetheless.

When we are children, we get praise for the simplest things. Lifting our head up, crawling, clapping our hands, having a good diaper, etc. As adults we stop praising each other for the simple things, but that shouldn't stop us from praising ourselves. We can still measure success by awards and accolades, but why wait for someone else to give them to us?

Today I earned virtual gold stars for not eating a big cookie in the breakroom, for biking to work, for staying on task with my experiments (I am writing this blog while incubating my protein in various solutions) and for helping the students in my lab with their various tasks. Tonight I can earn more virtual gold stars by "working out" with my son (consisting of dancing around the living room and maybe doing some baby-resistance exercises), folding the laundry, or working on my son's scrapbook. No one else may sing my praises, but as I praise my son for pulling himself up on the couch or figuring out how to put one stacking cup in another, I can think to myself about the praise-worthy things I have done each day, and let my son's gleeful noises be all the praise I need.