Everyone has their own unique perception on what the definition of that word is. Some people think that in order to be regarded as successful, they need to have fame or beauty. While others feel they need to have reached a certain level of wealth.
Wealth. Everyone has their own opinion upon this word, as well. Some people measure their personal wealth by the numerical amount that exists within their bank account. While others, base their wealth upon a more materialistic medium - the amount of clothes or shoes in their closet, the number of vehicles parked in their driveway, the amount of leisurely vacations in which they venture annually.
Then, there are people like my grandmother, who base their wealth off of the quantity of food stored in their kitchen cabinets. Having been an orphaned child growing up in The Netherlands during the Holocaust, she learned, at a very young age, the true necessities of life: food, shelter, and sense of security.
I could write a thousand paragraphs about the hardships she endured and the stories she has told me, but I’m getting away from my original purpose for this post.
How does one measure the value of success? How do I measure the value of success?
Will I feel triumphant if I graduate high school - if I graduate college? Will I feel successful if I’m able to snag myself a morally-centered husband who knows the grammatical difference between their, there, and they’re? Will I feel victorious if I attain prestigious placement in the career of my choosing? Will I feel accomplished in life if I die with millions of dollars left behind for my loved ones?
Or does my personal view of success even matter? Is it the opinion of others that I regard higher than my own that counts?
Or does no opinion matter at all? When I die, will anyone even miss my presence? Will my successes have any affect after my passing?
Too many questions… in which no one knows the answer to. All I’m sure of is that I am successful in finishing this post. For now, that’s enough.
Life is sad.
I think it’s beautiful when people are sad.
I think there’s beauty in tears.
The fragility of a moment.
The perfection of breathing. And falling apart. And being alive.
I feel so much and so little for people. Of the world.
Everyone is fighting. To hold on. To life. To each other.
And I think that’s beautiful. And I think it’s sad.
I love unmade beds. I love when people are drunk and crying and cannot be anything but honest in that moment. I love the look in people’s eyes when they realize they’re in love. I love the way people look when they first wake up and they’ve forgotten their surroundings. I love the gasp people take when their favorite character dies. I love when people close their eyes and drift to somewhere in the clouds. I fall in love with people and their honest moments all the time. I fall in love with their breakdowns and their smeared makeup and their daydreams. Honesty is just too beautiful to ever put into words.(via all-i-wanted-was-a-happy-ending)