Redefining Success

FEELING OKAY ABOUT MY FLOP ERA

ASHLEY SUDETa

I had lofty goals before I even applied to college: I was going to get summer internships every year, bulk my resume, and become the perfect specimen of capitalistic society. Unemployment would fear me. Reality wasn’t nearly that easy, but last summer I finally got my first professional internship and things started to look up.

Everything felt pretty amazing at the time. I completed the LSAT in the spring and was preparing for a bright future as a lawyer. It was my first summer in the Twin Cities, and I was interning for a nonprofit consumer advocate in a field I was truly passionate about. On campus, I was The Wake’s new editor-in-chief. Things were finally falling into place for me to ascend to perfection. It was so obvious even my therapist told me it was going to be a transformative summer and I had to make the most of it.

My feelings of accomplishment were short-lived. What was supposed to be an era of success quickly spiraled into the worst depressive episode of my life. The perfect conditions inverted like a cruel joke. Living independently in the Twin Cities was supposed to mean freedom, but it turned into weeks without talking to my friends or family faceto-face. I started missing deadlines at work, and the days just became long procrastination sessions. My sleep schedule turned on its head. I couldn’t focus on anything, so I put my energy into long, miserable walks where I wallowed in my isolation while looping Roy Orbison in my headphones. Soon, being The Wake’s editor-in-chief began to feel like an insurmountable responsibility, even the thought of it filled me with dread. It turned out that my perfect equation for success was actually a recipe for a hellish summer.

I barely scraped through my internship before my senior year began. Then, two months into the semester, I had to take a break; I unenrolled in classes and moved back home to Nebraska to put myself back together before taking a second shot at senior year.

Obviously my personal break was not a picture of professional success.

Living with your parents is a cliche of adult failure, even if your bedroom isn’t literally in the basement. I started working part time as a Starbucks barista, which paid barely above minimum wage. I spent my free time sitting on the floor making paper mache fish, taking naps, and going for walks with my mom. My mom basically became my best friend. Depictions in media taught me that any adult should feel ashamed to be living in these circumstances, but I didn’t really feel embarrassed. Actually, I felt pretty good for the first time in a while.

I’m not perfect at letting go of society’s standards, so I still feel a little silly when my parents tell me how proud they are of me today. Part of me still feels weird that I entered this semester fresh off a mental health break instead of having completed a flashy internship. Still, I try to take my parents’ words to heart. After all, I’ve come a long way in a year, so why shouldn’t I feel proud of myself? Why do we as a society feel like landing an internship deserves applause, but personal growth isn’t worth celebrating? Why not celebrate invisible victories the same way we allow ourselves to acknowledge material accomplishments?

Success is an incredibly personal and relative thing, and it took falling on my face to realize this. It’s impossible to tell how well you’re actually doing in life by looking outwards and comparing yourself to others. Instead, you have to reflect on yourself, where you started, and how far you’ve come. In my reflection, I’ve found that I feel far more successful at the beginning of this school year than I did last year, even without my internship and resume boosters. It just took creating my own definition of success to see what I’ve achieved.