I am aware that most would define success based on the amount of material wealth someone has and will consider those who are struggling with poverty as unsuccessful especially in today’s society, but I dare to disagree with this one-dimensional point of view.
Success is quite subjective depending on who is defining it or experiencing it and my thoughts about success might differ a bit from what others and society may consider as success. Success for me is checking off my to-do list at the end of the day and realizing that I accomplished all my outlined tasks. It gives me a great sense of pleasure and morale boost when I stay consistent in working towards achieving my goals and those daily tasks eventually culminate to achieving my bigger goals.
Success comes in many shapes and sizes, small or large. For instance, I deem it success when parents raise children who become responsible, empathetic and productive members of the larger society. Encouraging someone who is probably struggling to get through a rough day, getting out of bed and getting things done when my state of mind is only asking me to stay under the duvet and do nothing, a toddler taking those first steps without falling down at every attempt, getting a promotion at work, reaching your set financial goal for the month, a middle school kid being able to finally understand a mathematical concept, a homeless person finally being able to have a place to call their own, and so forth.
People are living their success each day in their own way and it is truly important that at each point in time, we set parameters of success that agrees with us and our circumstances. To each his own. May you find your success small and large.
I truly come short attempting to dig into my family tree and see how far back I can go. I recall my maternal and paternal grandparents very easily as I got to know them well enough before they passed on. I only have a fuzzy recollection of my great-grandparents on both sides, a couple of great grand uncles and aunts who were already long in tooth and wizened in age when I was still pretty young.
It does make me wonder what I would find if I embark on the journey of tracing my family tree/ancestry several generations back. I am doubtful if any concrete information will be there to guide one’s search or if any one amongst those living will remember. A lot of one’s history does get lost with the passage of time and honestly speaking, this exercise truly brings home the thought that when we die, our loved ones mourn us for such a time, but within decades or less, we become mere memories that fizzle away like the mist and some may never even recollect who we are at all.
This also makes me realize that one day when the sun sets on our lives, we will also become the ancestors, and though it is sad that our progenies may never get to know who we are, we can leave indelible marks behind that will make them proud if and when they discover that we shared the same roots.
I write because I do not know how not to. As far back as I can recall, I owned diaries and in them I would scribble my deepest thoughts. It was primarily a way of finding release, venting and setting free those expressions that ran around in my head. It slowly became a way to have my voice heard. It gave my thoughts a medium and ever since I started blogging and writing on other social media platforms I never stopped. Writing is my super power. It energizes, rejuvenates, helps me to refine my thoughts, gives me a sense of visibility and permanence.
The feeling and pleasure that I derive from writing is indescribable. To say the least, it is cathartic. I have been through extreme crisis situations that voicing my thoughts through writing has been a healing process. It helps bring more clarity to my thoughts, ideas and perceptions and I hope that it also gives the reader a better understanding of the messages that I share. One day, I hope to own an old traditional typewriter and will type beautiful letters and send to the people I love.
For me, writing is life and asides for all the other obvious reasons why writing is important, I believe that writing has been my sense of relief, a healing tool, a friend, a passion and purpose.
SQUAWK!! This is the silent shrill angry animal sound that has been recurring in my head of late. It seems like my life has been going down the river of late, tossed and tumbled like a flotsam from one tedious occurrence to the other and from three flu-bitten grumpy children to a flu-croaky, grunty husband and now it’s my turn, after nursing them and I must say, I sound pretty croaky. I think my croakiness is more like husky and sexy 😉
Groan! For the last couple of weeks, my blog has suffered as well and I’ve been bingeing on sugary stuff – I comfort eat when I feel low and even though I know it’s not good for me, I still do it. I hiss in disgust at myself but that still doesn’t stop me from gobblinga pack of biscuit chased down with a glass of juice. Meow! I feel like a bad kitty and have avoided the scale like a plague.
On the bright side, silent twitters also ring in my head happily ‘cos I just got a moonlighting part-time coaching job at an institute to prep students for English IELTS/TOEFL exams. I must say that I enjoy the weekly interactions and after 3 hours of teaching the rudiments of grammar, reading, writing and speaking, I come out feeling totally gratified. If the truth be told, this is something that I would do for free – but I need the funds badly.
Okidokey, let me moosey off now and get ready to bleatit – I have a tutoring session this morning with two young and funny Algerian kids who are learning English. See you later alligator 🙂
P.S. Dear Linda, I think I’ve managed to fit in several animal sounds with today’s SoCS prompt – sMOOth – though I suspect that there are many more waiting to be let out.
Tommy sprawls on his stomach on the thick paisley rug by the fireplace. His crooked elbows supporting his head, as he gazes at Nana with rapt attention.
In her favorite rocking chair, her shawl around her shoulders and Jack-sparrow at her feet, her little round glasses keeps sliding down her nose, when she chuckles.
He loves Nana dearly and her tales are full of magic. Time spent with her are precious.
He enjoys such special nights; the room is warm and toasty, despite the downpour. Cups of warm cocoa with marshmallows and buttery toast are just the thing. Nana’s pecan pie; the best in the entire county. The scents of spices all form a sense of coziness in their hearth.
Stretching his limber frame, his dreamy senses are roused by whispering voices and the waft of vanilla essence. Thomas pads over to his kitchen, brews a cup of coffee and sits by the misty window watching the rain drops.
He startles as a shadow of an orange floral shawl and a limping dog float by. Rushing to open the window, scents of nutmeg, cinnamon, vanilla and other spices float in.
Time to finish writing Nana’s tales, he tells himself.