“I’ve Been High” ~ by Peter Buck, Mike Mills and Michael Stipe (R.E.M.)

Have you seen?
Have-not will travel
Have I missed the big reveal?
Do my eyes,
Do my eyes seem empty?
I’ve forgotten how this feels.

I’ve been high
I’ve climbed so high
The light, sometimes it washes over me.

Standardized Success: By my fortieth birthday, despite all predictions to the contrary, by current societal standards my life was a success. I truly felt I had it all. I was happily married to my soul mate. My wife and I had built a successful business. We were a financially sound enterprise. I was esteemed by colleagues and clients, and was often sought and consulted for my expertise in my field.

I held court on my fortieth birthday by plopping down in my beach chair at the shoreline near my summer house, craft beer in hand and feet dangling in the warm wash of the Lake Michigan waves. Several dozen friends and family stopped by to toast me and wish me continuing success. Looking back on my life that day, I knew I’d climbed so high. The light of it washed over me.

And yet, I knew there was more. This was success, but what did it mean? Had I missed the big reveal?

Have you been?
Have-done will travel
I fell down on my knees

Was I wrong?
I don’t know, don’t answer.
I just needed to believe.

Something More: Six weeks after my fortieth came 9-11-01. A year after that we lost a loved one, and learned of the terminal illness of another loved one. Life went on. Business was still business. Success paid the bills—but the challenge of it no longer tasted so sweet.

We knew it was time to reevaluate. I’ve told the tale before (in detail here), but I’ll synopsize for those who haven’t heard it. We walked away, leaving the comforts of success behind. Have-done will travel.

We downsized, moving to our beloved cottage in the woods. We sold or gave away the lion’s share of our possessions. Life slowed down. Things were less certain, less secure. And yet we found the time to search for meaning and peace, to attempt to be in the moment—seeking to better know ourselves, and to enjoy each other every day. Striving for success by our own standards.

Were we wrong to walk away from the comforts of making a lucrative living? I don’t know, don’t answer. But I still suspect we are meant for something more than making money and accumulating possessions. I just needed to believe. And still do.

I’ve been high
I’ve climbed so high
The light, sometimes it washes over me.

So I dive into a pool.
So cool and deep that if I sink I sink,
And when I swim I fly, so high.

Taking the Plunge: Writing fiction has stripped away all of the vestiges of my so-called former success. And not just due to a lack of monetary compensation. I am the boss of one—myself. I am no longer an expert. Far from it. I am, and shall long be, a humble student of the process—a protégé to those who’ve spent a lifetime swimming these waters. It’s daunting. There are no lifeguards. If I sink, I sink.

But since diving in, I’ve come to realize that nothing feels more natural, or more rewarding, than writing. I know my early attempts were awkward, and yet they awoke a love of learning and challenge, and revealed a longing to strive for deeper understanding.

The exposure afterward can be cold, but also bracing. The muscle memory gained through practice allows me to go deeper with each attempt than I’d previously dared. By most societal standards, I am not yet a successful writer. But when I swim I fly—so high.

What I want
All I really want is
Just to live my life on high.

And I know
I know you want the same
I can see it in your eyes.

Success by Choice: Every writer I know was or is a success… At something. I know plenty of successful novelists and publishing industry folks. But I also know fiction writers who are former doctors, lawyers, and journalists. There are former painters and actors. And so many are so well-educated—with multiple degrees from prestigious schools.

Or they are successful because they did not have such opportunities. Some have raised themselves up from the humblest of upbringings, taking steady jobs and bonding with partners for love, and raising beautiful children. And they write for an hour after the family is in bed, or before they get up. I think I admire them the most.

But we all choose to write—to dive into those daunting waters. Only to expose ourselves to the cold afterward, hoping to learn and grow. Striving to go deeper. When I see your posts, and hear of your ongoing writerly struggles, I know you want the same thing I do—to live life on high. I can see it in your eyes.

We know that when we swim we fly. We are all successes. By our own standards. Just for continuing to dive and to strive—and to fly, so high.

I’ve been high
I’ve climbed so high
The light, sometimes it washes over me.

Washes over me
I close my eyes
So I can see
Make my make-believe, believe in me.

Seeing the Real Me: It’s odd to think that only by delving into a make-believe world have I come to know myself. I’d hardly paused to try to recognize myself through the years of my successful business run. I didn’t really know what I considered heroic or honorable. I hadn’t asked myself what I really believe are admirable traits in my fellow human beings—let alone myself. I’d never asked myself if I thought mankind was intrinsically noble or base. I hadn’t asked what my marriage really meant to me, or what I hoped to achieve before I left this earth—what I’d like to be remembered for, or even if I was worthy of being remembered.

Sure, by society’s standards, I’ve been high. But my writerly self finds those standards lacking. I’ve found that writing takes me to another level. Society might see my fiction-writing as a make-believe form of success. But I close my eyes to their standards. I close them so I can see. Only through my make-believe perspective have I come to believe in me.

How about you? Do you consider yourself a success? By whose standards?

Image credit: <a href=’http://www.123rf.com/photo_20329071_freediver-gliding-underwater-over-vivid-coral-reef.html’>mihtiander / 123RF Stock Photo</a>