A Measure of Success

There was a soft ding overhead and the fasten seat belt sign came on as we began our descent into Ft. Myers airport. The flight from Cleveland had been mostly uneventful. Take off was a little rough as we left in the middle of a snowstorm. And there was some turbulence along the way as we passed over the mountains in Georgia. But the flight was “relatively crash free” as my father used to say. He thought he was funny.

From my window seat the view outside was a stark contrast from the cold and snowy world we left 2 ½ hours ago. Cleveland summers were beautiful. Winters were brutal. I was happy to be leaving them behind and looking forward to soaking in the warm Florida sun for as long as I could. I’ve earned this, I told myself.

The flight attendant came on the speaker, “ Ladies and gentlemen we have begun our final approach into Southwest Florida International Airport. In preparation for landing the Captain has turned on the fasten seat belt sign and asked that you please put your seat backs and tray tables in their upright and locked position.”

The flight attendant pulled a curtain shut separating the first class passengers from the rest of us. I wondered what the point of that was. What was going on up there they didn’t want us back here in steerage to see? Handing out the last of the martinis maybe? What did they think, if we saw that we would all rush first class and demand martinis?

I’ve never flown first class. I guess I’m just not first class material. If you had asked me 45 years ago if I would ever fly first class, I would have said “No. I’m going to have my own private jet. First class is for losers.” I had big dreams when I was young. Dreams I thought were achievable. I was going to be rich and famous. A lot of people think that I suppose, but I was certain it was going to happen for me. Later I would find out becoming rich and famous is a lot harder than it looks.

I thought the road map to success was obvious. Start a business. Make millions. Simple enough. So I made plans. I took some risks. I did start a business. It didn’t really fail, just never took off like I had hoped. It’s easy to assign blame. The economy was bad. The market changed. I couldn’t find the right help. Or maybe I just didn’t know what I was doing. They say the only failure is not trying. No. Trying and not succeeding is failure. And it’s OK to fail. Believe me, I’ve told myself that a lot.

I ended up having a good career though. Not what I had planned but I did well. Well enough to buy a nice house, have kids, nice cars and pay for college educations. I saved for retirement and was looking forward to taking it a little easier.

But I see people my age and they seem to have accomplished so much more. Many are friends who started off in the same place I did. We were young, ambitious, and full of dreams. Success was just waiting for us around the corner. Today, many of them are where I had hoped to be. They found success. They made decisions in their lives, took risks, or maybe even just got lucky. Now they are sitting in first class sipping martinis and I am not as I raise my tray table and seat back on life's final approach.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not unhappy, and I wouldn’t call myself unsuccessful. In fact, in many ways my life is rich and deeply rewarding. I have a wonderful family, accomplishments I’m proud of, and I’ve been fortunate enough to travel and see a good portion of the world. I’ve had adventures that could fill hours of stories.But there is still something missing. I look back at my life and despite everything, I don’t feel successful.

I heard the landing gear coming down and saw the flaps on the wing extend. I looked out the window at the clear blue sky, the palm trees and the beautiful sparkling sea. Why don’t I feel successful? I wondered. Below little white dots filled the gulf coastal waters, some with a wake trailing them, others with colorful sails. Suddenly it struck me. I know exactly why I don’t feel successful.

I don’t have a boat.

That’s it. A boat is the very definition of success. To have a boat you have to have so much money that you could flush the money you spent on your boat down the toilet and not miss it. And then keep flushing money down the toilet year after year.

If I had a boat, THEN I could consider myself successful. But not just any boat. To be truly successful, I would need the kind of boat that strangers would look at and say “Wow. I wonder who owns THAT boat.” And when people talk about me, someone would always say, “Have you seen his boat?”

I would never doubt myself or my success again. All I would need to do is look at my boat and say, “Yep. I made it.” And I’d have plenty of friends. I could say to them, “We took the boat out this weekend and it was beautiful. We’ll have to take you out sometime.” People would like me because I have a boat and they want to go out on it. Yea, that is the missing piece. If I had a boat things would be better.

The wheels touched down and my flight came to an end. As we taxied to the gate I thought about the entirety of my life - the successes, the failures. Sure, there were disappointments. But there were also accomplishments. There was joy and great memories. I have experienced love and awe. I have great friends and a great family. It has been an amazing life. There is only one thing missing. I need a boat.