What defines it? We reach for so long to get to something that’s not tangible. So how do we know when we make it? Where is the line in sand we must cross that truly marks when you’ve achieved it?….And what happens before you reach success? Are you unsuccessful or a failure? Is there some sort of gray area of limbo you float in as you work towards it?

Hmmm….the things we do.

In high school I felt like a outcast. I got into school a year early so I was younger and had an eclectic personality most just couldn’t get with. I used to think success meant showing up old classmates and other people I deemed as haters. I figured success was measured through random “seen ya in traffic” moments. One question gets asked: ‘How have you been?/What have you been up to?’ You better be ready to answer because the game is on. Each person lays their cards on the table, an unspoken judgment is passed, each party goes back to their respective walks of life and tells everything they saw and heard.


I think everyone has an inate inner desire to 1-up the next person. It is human nature. If it wasn’t, sitcoms wouldn’t be filled with episodes featuring single women searching for a date for  upcomming high school reunions. That used to be me. Now….well now…I really just don’t give a damn.

I define my own markings of success.

No doubt about it people are gonna talk. People are gonna talk about you…have discussions about you….and trade notes about you ’til the day you die. There’s nothing wrong with preparing for moments when you know the room will be buzzin….but do you! I, myself paid a lil extra attention to make sure I was looking right. I slicked my locks up into a ponytail and wrapped a scarf around it to hide the naps. Slipped on a nice lil tube dress, and tucked a vintage carved leather clutch under my arm. After a few spritz of some Vicki Secret body spray…..I was ready!

The funny thing is, once I entered the room….any thoughts about being silently judged were forgeten. I’m sure somewhere out there, somebody is sharing notes on what they saw and heard, but I simply don’t care. I don’t give a damn.

I’m happy with where I am in my life. I love everything about me. I love the tiger stripes on my tummy, thighs, arms, and wherever else stretch marks appear. There’s no shame in my game. No slippin in my pimpin’. No teeter in my totter. Baby I’m flyy. Her Royal Flyyness to be exact.

So what defines success? In my world success is defined by my ability to walk on the path God has for my life, and do what he intends for me to do. As long as I’m running my race, then I figure I’m doin the damn thang! To all those sexily fantastic women who are doing it for themselves and To all the georgeously stupendeous men handeling their business…I give 2-Cheers and a Shout. Congrats. You define success.