How do I define success? I’m not Oprah. YOU GET A CAR! Although she has probably been the closest to anyone or anything that I’ve “looked up to”. Roll your eyes if you’d like but my story went from watching cartoons after school to watching a woman interview people on her own talk show. I went from He-Man to Oprah in the sixth grade. That’s more than 25 years. She’s like a favorite auntie. The auntie who would take me to the mall with her buddy Iyanla Vanzant. The auntie who would take me aside and offer encouraging words like, “You’re just like your Auntie O. You love to talk with and listen to people. You want to hear their stories. You want to find the lessons to share just like me.” Love you Auntie! I used to humorously say that I wanted to be the male Oprah when I grow up. I said it with some sort of sense of humor but the truth is I wasn’t kidding. Wasn’t kidding at all. Today, I don’t often share my affinity for Auntie out loud. Some people, including friends, have such strong reactions to her. If I say anything even mildly positive as someone begins a bashing like, “Well, it is amazing how she brought a spiritual dialogue to the masses. That’s pretty impressive”, eye rolls might follow. So I keep it to myself. When unsubstantiated Auntie bashing occurs I just keep my mouth shut. “She used to be down to earth then she got rich” or “She seems like a bitch” or “She seems fake I can’t stand her or how all these housewives worship her” or “her followers will do and buy whatever she says.” I’m not a housewife, I don’t worship her and I ain’t always buyin' what she’s sellin’ just like I’m not buyin’ any one giant sack of anybody’s anything.
I appreciate Auntie because she sparked something in me and that is real. Pretty much an only child since my sister left the house when I was eight (she’s 10 years older), I was a lonely kid. There weren’t kids in the neighborhood to play with for the most part and my parents both worked hard. I learned from an early age how to make a mean Shake-n-Bake chicken, homemade macaroni and cheese and that all vegetable side dishes come from the farm of a very nice green giant (ho-ho-ho). Watching Oprah sit with people who were different than me or brilliant or troubled and talk about life and struggles and triumphs, it moved me. Like an Auntie who spends time with her favorite nephew, I spent hours each week with Oprah. Just observing. Just listening and watching. I didn’t care if she said odd things that others might make fun of. I didn’t care if she seemed different than she did when she first came into the collective consciousness. I just wasn’t interested in judging like I’d done with other “celebrities” in the pop-culture stratosphere. Auntie O was like a favorite teacher who I respected. Being that insecure, shy kid with low self-esteem, it was Auntie who introduced me to new people and ideas and allowed me to first deeply consider the concept of spirituality, the qualities that connect each of us to one another, that which is greater than our physical form. She explained to me the difference between religion and spirituality through discussion between guests of different faiths and beliefs and that was important for a kid who grew up with very Catholic parents. It was Auntie who played a part in nurturing my innate curiosity by turning that curiosity inward towards myself and likewise, interpersonally; relationship to self and relationship to others. These little bits from Auntie, even if it was just one moment a month that stood out and inspired me, encouraged an understanding that the world that seemed so far away from my small town in Pennsylvania just might be welcoming, exciting, different and more expansive than my little bubble. As I got older and began to write, I would sometimes keep one of my notebooks near me if I was really excited about a particular topic that Auntie was going to present. I would jot down a word or a phrase, anything that seemed to stick and resonate. The only memory I have of a specific phrase from one show was Embrace Life. Two words. One idea. One action. I wrote it down and couldn’t shake it. It stayed with me. It’s still there. I picked it apart. I considered it, mulled it over, increased my curiosity, wondered how I could do it, if I did it already, how others did it, why I wasn’t doing it and so on. All of this just an example of how Auntie impacted me. And here I am, a psychotherapist in training. My own little hourly talk show. Talking and listening, just like she did on the television back on Mt. Zion Avenue in Pottstown, Pennsylvania.
As 40 now approaches quickly, I find myself pondering my personal definition of success as I reflect on where I’ve been and where I’m going. I’m not Oprah. Nope, just Erik. The keys are unfortunately not under your seat and my favorite things would be quite different than fuzzy comfy pajamas (you get a bucket of fries! and you get a bucket of fries!). I don’t have Oprah’s bank account either, but then again, she didn’t always have her bank account. She’s a woman who had a vision and made it happen. No more, no less. No rich family to buy her way to the top. I can relate to that. Success for me is how life feels. Sometimes life feels shitty especially if I’m dealing with a bout of depression that can come out of nowhere (someone please remind me to get my testosterone levels checked!). Those feelings, which are pretty much not technically, are more like states or a state of mind. I measure success by what I’ve allowed myself to experience. Have I taken a risk lately? Have I stepped outside of my comfort zone? Yes? Then success has been had. I don’t measure it by my bank account. I don’t measure it by the size of my dance card (is that still a phrase? dance card=social calendar) or the level and quality of décor in my house (even though I go Gaga, Lady Gaga for design, furnishings, space and interiors). I measure success by the warmth and sensation I experience when in conversation with a friend. I feel successful when I leave my neighborhood and steep myself in the glorious nature that is the Bay Area and California coast. True success is creating a simple, beautiful meal at home, writing when I want to write, taking photographs, keeping my feet on the ground when the lesson is difficult to learn and telling Paul that I miss him when I’m away from him. Real success is remembering to serve others and not just myself, to be grateful when I want to complain and finding inspiration that creates visions dancing in my head from the most random moments throughout a day. It’s when I remember how beautiful it is to add a sprig of mint to water and how even more beautiful it is to be gentle with myself when I realize I’m not being present but ruminating or what-if'ing. I measure success by how much I’m embracing life. In my next decade, perhaps success will be measured by my ability to increase my capacity for joy and the joy of those around me. That sounds really nice.