Notions of success have been thrown at me, like dodgeballs at a small kid in gym class. I’ve also been on the throwing side, pelting away at the small kid, bombarding him about success in a zero-sum game.

Successful. Unsuccessful. Winning. Losing. Gains. Losses. Something to be proud of. Something to be ashamed of.

Success is an unhealthy heuristic. It’s a monotone understanding of a chromatic life. I used to think that my success would be measured by material things and riches, even though I didn’t necessarily desire either. Still, I thought I could achieve enough things to feel and appear successful.

I made age and flab. I didn’t make money, and I’ve never had just one job or a clear career trajectory. I possess no assets. I possess debt. There’s a lot more I didn’t than I did; thus, it would seem that I am unsuccessful.

At first glance, my resume—characterized by gaps and a complex storyline called my career—tells a sad, unsuccessful story about me:

However, the last page of my resume is a hefty list of my voluntary service. It’s the mortar between the bricks, and it tells the rest of the story:

My adult life has been like wandering in a desert: aimless sauntering, the unfulfilled promise of a destination, and constant scarcity. Yet, my adult life has also been characterized by transformational growth, perseverance, and creativity.

I found that an aura of goodness is needed to endure life’s disappointments. Even when we and other things are at their worst, excellence parts water and draws it from stones. Excellence means having “an affirmative disposition to all obstacles” or “a favorable abode for the state of mind known as faith” despite success. Strictly speaking, you can be unsuccessful and still live excellently, and you can be successful and live inferiorly. Success offers no such hope. Excellence abides by the light.

It’s easy to over-emphasize success in a results-driven culture such as ours. There are “student success” jobs in higher education. Some people are called “success stories.” And people are told to “dress for success.”

In a results-driven culture, the ends become more important than the means. I tell you, as a researcher, that dubious and unethical methods make empty results despite the quality of data, just as cracks and holes make empty vases despite the quality of clay. Success without excellence is like looking on the bright side in the darkness. It’s denial.

An individual benefits by focusing first on personal excellence before personal success. 40 years of unsuccessful pursuits in the desert will bring more enrichment to an excellent person than 40 years of successful wealth acquisition can to a joyless fool. In other words, you can live excellently in a van by the river or a mansion in the hills. Or you can be inferior and still live in either.

To be excellent, we commit to personal growth, advance values that respect the dignity of ourselves and others, thrive in discipline, and do things that serve more significant purposes. We take faith and spiritual existence seriously. We do hard things, and we do them without complaining. We own less than we need. We do more than we must. We create more than we destroy.

But if we want to be inferior, we can focus on what we want to consume. We will seek out external validation. Good luck to us if we do. Our life will become defined by the things we don’t have, which will always be greater than what we do.

During the pandemic, I abandoned the idea of objective measures of success. Nothing is guaranteed for my generation. You can work hard and be poor. You can go to college and be unemployed and underpaid. The dollar doesn’t go as far. Owning a home AND retiring is becoming ever out of reach. If success comes from reaching a desired future, I can’t rely on success because I see no particular future to expect.

This is why I decided to be more like my grandparents. I want to be value-driven and ingenious. My goal is to renounce extravagance and embrace elegance. I don’t want a lot of land, but I want to use space meaningfully. I don’t want to purchase my time through material experiences; I want to spend my time wisely. I want to be excellent, and that’s a life I don’t have to wait for.