Success - Measured by Dollars. Important, but there can be happiness for those of us who failed that criteria.
In two weeks DW and I will enter into our 26th year of being retired, never coming close to being millionaires.
Perhaps a different era. Just out of college, with a service obligation, new bride and soon a child on the way... the lifetime goal was not to become wealthy, but to have a safe future. The idea of ever being in the monied class just didn't exist. The ideal then was a decent salary, a home, car, a stay at home wife and a loving, happy family... (four sons)
Personality and inclusion was a major part of the hopes and dreams. Part of this from the choice of a Liberal Arts education. Leadership, but with little or no interest in business, though DW's dad was a successful businessman, owning a mill in the heyday of the New England textile industry.
With esoteric tastes, and no specialization, the fallback was 30 years in the business of retail management with a reasonable degree of success, but lacking the killer instinct necessary to be top dog.
And so, from different era, a different perspective, a different measure of "Success"... In this case, more a matter of 'Nurture", than "Nature".
Success = Happy and Optimistic...
Twin boys of five or six.
Worried that the boys had developed extreme personalities — one was a total pessimist, the other a total optimist — their parents took them to a psychiatrist.
First the psychiatrist treated the pessimist. Trying to brighten his outlook, the psychiatrist took him to a room piled to the ceiling with brand-new toys. But instead of yelping with delight, the little boy burst into tears. “What’s the matter?” the psychiatrist asked, baffled. “Don’t you want to play with any of the toys?” “Yes,” the little boy bawled, “but if I did I’d only break them.”
Next the psychiatrist treated the optimist. Trying to dampen his out look, the psychiatrist took him to a room piled to the ceiling with horse manure. But instead of wrinkling his nose in disgust, the optimist emitted just the yelp of delight the psychiatrist had been hoping to hear from his brother, the pessimist. Then he clambered to the top of the pile, dropped to his knees, and began gleefully digging out scoop after scoop with his bare hands. “What do you think you’re doing?” the psychiatrist asked, just as baffled by the optimist as he had been by the pessimist. “With all this manure,” the little boy replied, beaming, “there must be a pony in here somewhere!”