A Thinker's Ambitions; or, Reflections on Success (Part 1)
I want to be successful. I've always wanted to be successful. I'm particularly drawn to the tales of people who have made something of their lives, who have directed their energy towards something and proved themselves to the world in some way or another. None of this is particularly unusual. I think it's a fairly normal human emotion to have ambition and be drawn to those who have acted on and achieved something with their ambitions. However, desiring success is dangerously close to desiring fame, and these days that latter thing is a dirty thing to desire.
There is a difference between the two. Having success does not entail having fame -- this much is obvious. You can be a successful employee at a company and have nobody but your co-workers and industry peers know your name (perhaps not even them, to be honest). You can be a housewife and raise wonderful children, and be known to nobody outside of your community and family -- this is a kind of success. So, success means achieving something positive whilst being happy in yourself. And none of that entails fame. The question here is, then, do I really only want success or is there a dirty element of fame that I desire? Do I just want to be happy in myself with having done something positive -- or do I want recognition too? My beginning paragraph mentioned the fact that I'm drawn to people who have proved themselves to the world in some way or another. This goes beyond just success. This is standing, briefly, in the limelight. Showing the world that you have worth. And if I'm being completely honest with myself, this is what I want.
I want to write books that are read by people and discussed by people. I want to contribute ideas to discourses and have people show enthusiasm for what I've contributed. I want compliments and re-assurance that I have worth. And ironically, desperately, cringe-worthily ironically, this desire to stand out makes me just like everybody else. My desire for prominence makes me on amongst a million. Does this irony make my desires any less valid? I don't think so. I don't think the common desire to gain recognition for your passions and interests is an unworthy desire. It seems likely to me that it fuels the fire of those who do end up successful. There is a problem, though.
It puts a lot of pressure on me on the inside. I may be ambitious, but I'm also realistic. I realise that in terms of intellect and talent (i.e. my ability to convey a notion with words), I'm not, say, amongst the top 10% globally. I've encountered many people smarter than me; I've read the writing of many people with better flourish than I have. I'm realistic enough to know, however, that I can keep up with many of the people I deem incredibly smart; I can read back my own writing with some distance and see I have at least a minor gift for a turn of phrase, for the construction of ideas and images within sentences and paragraphs. I'm not a genius, but I do have potential. Falling within this middle-ground of talent -- no genius, but having potential -- produces a strong reaction in me. It's like I have a cosmic mandate to prove myself. I'm not just a smart-aleck; I'm not just words. I have substance. But how does somebody whose primary ambitions involve the construction of ideas built with the brick and mortar of words prove that they are more than just words? Without recognition, I am just words. Without recognition, my stories and ideas are just words in a document file. Recognition brings substance. This is a scary reality for someone whose ambitions are largely writerly.
I think it might also have something to do with being black in Britain. If you show a bit of promise as a person of colour in Britain, you get showered with praise and expectation. Even as you grow older and people begin to view you more realistically (as your stem-cell potential individuates), until you grow too old, or settle into a nothing job, an air of expectation lingers. You could prove to people that black folk can do it too. Black folk can keep up. Black folk are smart. You can destroy stereotypes; you can expedite the inevitable fall of racism. And I do find this important. It may be somewhat of a harsh reality to befall people of colour -- a deluge of expectation when you show even a modicum of potential -- but I think, ultimately, it is noble to work on it and try to gain the recognition that proves to people that race does not determine character or intellect, that racism is a phantom, and here is a real flesh and bones human being to vanquish your preconceptions.
Where do these reflections get me? I don't know. I suppose I have a defence now of why I want recognition or success. It doesn't change the fact, however, that failure will only sting more if that is what ultimately befalls me. Perhaps I'll make this post part 1 in a two-part reflection on success/ambition. Part 2, then, will look at the threat of failure and what I need to do as an individual to fight against those fears.
Until then, though.
There is a difference between the two. Having success does not entail having fame -- this much is obvious. You can be a successful employee at a company and have nobody but your co-workers and industry peers know your name (perhaps not even them, to be honest). You can be a housewife and raise wonderful children, and be known to nobody outside of your community and family -- this is a kind of success. So, success means achieving something positive whilst being happy in yourself. And none of that entails fame. The question here is, then, do I really only want success or is there a dirty element of fame that I desire? Do I just want to be happy in myself with having done something positive -- or do I want recognition too? My beginning paragraph mentioned the fact that I'm drawn to people who have proved themselves to the world in some way or another. This goes beyond just success. This is standing, briefly, in the limelight. Showing the world that you have worth. And if I'm being completely honest with myself, this is what I want.
I want to write books that are read by people and discussed by people. I want to contribute ideas to discourses and have people show enthusiasm for what I've contributed. I want compliments and re-assurance that I have worth. And ironically, desperately, cringe-worthily ironically, this desire to stand out makes me just like everybody else. My desire for prominence makes me on amongst a million. Does this irony make my desires any less valid? I don't think so. I don't think the common desire to gain recognition for your passions and interests is an unworthy desire. It seems likely to me that it fuels the fire of those who do end up successful. There is a problem, though.
It puts a lot of pressure on me on the inside. I may be ambitious, but I'm also realistic. I realise that in terms of intellect and talent (i.e. my ability to convey a notion with words), I'm not, say, amongst the top 10% globally. I've encountered many people smarter than me; I've read the writing of many people with better flourish than I have. I'm realistic enough to know, however, that I can keep up with many of the people I deem incredibly smart; I can read back my own writing with some distance and see I have at least a minor gift for a turn of phrase, for the construction of ideas and images within sentences and paragraphs. I'm not a genius, but I do have potential. Falling within this middle-ground of talent -- no genius, but having potential -- produces a strong reaction in me. It's like I have a cosmic mandate to prove myself. I'm not just a smart-aleck; I'm not just words. I have substance. But how does somebody whose primary ambitions involve the construction of ideas built with the brick and mortar of words prove that they are more than just words? Without recognition, I am just words. Without recognition, my stories and ideas are just words in a document file. Recognition brings substance. This is a scary reality for someone whose ambitions are largely writerly.
I think it might also have something to do with being black in Britain. If you show a bit of promise as a person of colour in Britain, you get showered with praise and expectation. Even as you grow older and people begin to view you more realistically (as your stem-cell potential individuates), until you grow too old, or settle into a nothing job, an air of expectation lingers. You could prove to people that black folk can do it too. Black folk can keep up. Black folk are smart. You can destroy stereotypes; you can expedite the inevitable fall of racism. And I do find this important. It may be somewhat of a harsh reality to befall people of colour -- a deluge of expectation when you show even a modicum of potential -- but I think, ultimately, it is noble to work on it and try to gain the recognition that proves to people that race does not determine character or intellect, that racism is a phantom, and here is a real flesh and bones human being to vanquish your preconceptions.
Where do these reflections get me? I don't know. I suppose I have a defence now of why I want recognition or success. It doesn't change the fact, however, that failure will only sting more if that is what ultimately befalls me. Perhaps I'll make this post part 1 in a two-part reflection on success/ambition. Part 2, then, will look at the threat of failure and what I need to do as an individual to fight against those fears.
Until then, though.
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