I have to admit I'm not a huge Whitney Houston fan. She sings nicely enough and I think that when our worldly possessions joined together a CD of hers crept into the communal property. I was explaining to the guys at the gym this morning - all young and buff and lovely that the difference between them hearing Whitney and me hearing Whitney (a good few decades older than them) was the difference between retro-cool and old aged corny.
Yet her death, following a string of other deaths of prominent youngish people (how the young line moves as one gets older) gave me pause to think about this whole thing of success. How success hides as much as it exposes. Google her and the word "success" and there are 308 million google links, including this one from wikipedia:
"In 2009, the Guinness World Records cited her as the most-awarded female act of all time.[1] Her awardsinclude two Emmy Awards, six Grammy Awards, 30 Billboard Music Awards, and 22 American Music Awards, among a total of 415 career awards in her lifetime. Houston was also one of the world's best-selling music artists, having sold over 170 million albums, singles and videos worldwide."
Google her and the word "failure" and you get 117 million. Are so many google links in themselves a sign of success? Gweipo blog comes in at a more modest 113 thousand. Is that a sign of success?
I'm measuring success somewhat differently these days. And I had pause to think about it as I meditated last month, continue with my life-coach in plotting and scheming what it is I want to do here and now and in the future. Last week I was witness to someone's grieving over what might have been and was not to be in her life and career. I'd seriously told my psychologist 12 years ago that my measure of personal success would be to have my obituary in back of the Economist. And at that time I really meant it.
There is a dominant culture which says success has to be broadcast widely and trumpeted loudly. Parents gloat and brag about children's successes, schools have "achievement booklets" or notice boards or newsletters or assemblies dedicated to handing out diplomas or cups or ribbons. There is this big scoreboard that needs to be filled with numbers and compared and competed and then there is success. The McKinsey success of everything that can be measured can be controlled and improved on.
After this morning's workout, we were called do one of the two minute challenges. This varied from rowing or running to sit-ups, push ups, pull ups, squats and various weights. Looking on the board where there were numbers and scores, it was an interesting local variant of the "four minute mile" effect. Blocks without numbers were safe, and people were reluctant to be the first with a score. The minute a number went into a block, of course it was up to challenge and lo and behold the number got beaten, often spectacularly time after time, including, after a short while by the original initiator.
Back here at home we've seen some spectacular success. It's not going to make any headlines, and no one will notice except us involved and you my dear readers. Two tremendous things happened, two weeks running which give me hope. I blogged a little while back about good and bad teachers, with a light emphasis on the bad bit. Let me tell you a little about a good teacher. Last week my son came home brimming with excitement about graphs. Yes graphs. Yes, my mathematically challenged son who is struggling still with memorizing all his timetables and then being able to remember them on a timed test. The whole 30 minutes of the daily afternoon dog walk he waxed lyrically about the types of graphs and types of data and which data was most suited for which graphs. He couldn't wait to dig into his homework and scour the Economist and Financial Times for graphs to see how and why they were used and what they meant. We had to go online to see if there were any graphs about the popularity of "mine craft" (reality check - is every 8-10 year old in the world obsessed with this virtual lego game?).
This week it has been punctuation. Yes, punctuation. He's been stabbing the air with inverted commas, full stops and question marks as he and we speak and pointing them out in what we're reading. The homework worksheet was tackled with gusto and a triumphant - "here mum, just check if I forgot anything" straight away. Monday he came home and declared that it had been "my best day at school ever in my whole life. Can I tell you all about it?"
The road has been long. And I feel now finally we've arrived at a really nice guest house where we can replenish and renew as we move forward. This is about a successful teacher. This is about a successful child. Who even as he may hover around the bottom of the class on the numbered lists and scores has rediscovered an enthusiasm for school based learning. There will be no oscars or grammy's or gold plated anythings for either my son or his teacher. Neither, hopefully will the dark side of success subsume them into an early death marred by drugs and drink and abusive relationships.
My in-laws are on a two week visit here. We've been catching up with the news from home and family. They are modest people. There are no headlines about them, even in the local village paper. They haven't amassed any great fortune, not even a small one. They live carefully off a pension earned by one retiree. But I look at them and see success. Three children who they still have a great relationship with. Including the spouses and grandchildren. Health and vitality. Acceptance and compassion for those around them. Time to listen, time to talk. Time to communicate with their children and grandchildren. None of their children have major issues financial or otherwise. All are happily married. All get on with each other. Is there anything more a parent could wish for?
