Achieving Success in the Real World—It’s Not What You Expect.

It was finals week of my last semester as an undergraduate. Many things were running through my head at that time; in particular, I was concerned with polishing up projects and making sure I was well-prepared for the coming exams and presentations. I remember spending 5 days straight with an average of 3 hours of sleep per day on my senior design project just so that it was “perfect” (it never actually got to that point, but I still tried).

If you knew me back in elementary school, or even highschool, I was the complete opposite—for me, success in school meant doing as little work as possible. Not only was I lazy, but I was also a big troublemaker (I remember bringing a pet spider to school and when I got caught, I said it was for my project. Yeah, I know, pretty bad-ass). Despite this, I always thought to myself: “I’m going to slack off now, but in college I’ll do my best—that’s how I’ll succeed.”

Fast forward into the future, once I got into college I stayed true to that promise (thank God) and I became completely obsessed with trying to succeed. To me, the most apparent way of doing so was through academic excellence. I thought that by getting A’s, by participating in class, and by doing things that a “good student” should do, I would eventually succeed in life. If I just follow the curriculum and do my best, I would achieve my childhood dreams and be successful. I had it all figured out.

The structure that college provides is very comfortable. You go to class, you do your homework, and you pass the final exam. Repeat this cycle for 4-5 years, and you’re ready to face the “real world.” Once you graduate, you have the right tools to achieve whatever it is you want in life. However, the steps to do so are not entirely obvious. If you’re like me and got spoiled by school (or by the “system”), where should you start?

Growing up as kids, most of us were constantly bombarded by images of what defines success. To be successful, you need to drive a nice car, make a lot of money, be popular, and have a happy family; all at the same time. The better you are or the more you have than the majority, the more successful you appear. In this sense, success is measured through a state of external affluence. Through this association, we strive for these possessions because we believe that ultimately these things will make us happy and feel like we’re “living life.”

But, should this be the measuring stick within which we define success?

When I graduated college and finally achieved what I was aiming for, to be honest, I was a bit disappointed. I was expecting this ecstatic feeling brought by what I thought was success. Instead, I didn’t feel any different than when I was a student, only this time, I had a diploma. All along, I was aiming for the status of a straight-A student because I thought that being one would mean that I achieved success. But once I finally got there, it didn’t feel that way at all. Even looking back at it today, I cannot say that I was successful in college because I fit that image of what a “good” student is supposed to be.

What I did value, however, was the person I became by aiming for that goal. I started practicing values such as hard-work, discipline, and dedication to my daily routines. I became passionate about learning and I was actively seeking answers to my various curiosities in life. I also realized that if I wanted to do/change something, I can’t put it back for later—I have to start now. These were all virtually nonexistent in me before college; however, they were all traits of the person I wanted to be. Actualizing those values were more important than what those values brought to me—a piece of paper.

It then hit me.

I had placed sole value on achievement while overlooking the process and foundations of achieving. Success, I pondered, is not simply attaining the end-goal, but it is also about who you become during the process. In this sense, it is a state of being, not simply being at a state. It is internal affluence that defines success, not it’s counterpart.

I started questioning my goals and the assumptions I had made of what I thought was success. Do I need a dream car? Do I need a lot of money? Do I need to live in a mansion? These were things I realized didn’t matter as much as I had previously considered. The superficial clouded the way I perceived success and my vanity was certainly getting ahead of me.

Rather than continuing on with this mindset, I identified the values and principles of who I wanted to be and tailored my goals around them. To me, having integrity and living each day with virtue matters more than any material possession.

If you had also fallen prey into interpreting success as an end-goal, I urge you, break free from it and define what really matters to you. Forget about the images associated to success and the notion that you need luck to be successful. Although it is natural to measure success this way, aiming to fit those images may not necessarily be consistent with what you truly want. Maybe all the money, fame, women/men, cars, etc. don’t really matter to you as much as you think. Do you value experiencing new things? Exploring the earth? Trying different food? Spending time with your friends/family/girlfriend/boyfriend? Identify what’s important to you and align your goals accordingly.

Consider all aspects in your life and define success in your own terms. Stop comparing yourself with others, and run your own race! Answer the question “Who do I want to be?” not, “What do I want to be?”, and work towards becoming that person. Because in the “real world”, no one else will be the judge of personal success but you.

So tell me, what does success mean to you?

Gratitude

His name was Frank and a hurricane stole his home. 

We sat by the pier as he told us the story of how he and his family had evacuated days before the tides came in, how he was now staying with relatives on the outskirts of Louisana. He told us how he watched on television, as did the rest of the nation, as Mother Nature ravaged through New Orleans, turning over houses like pancakes on a grill. He told us how he had returned to his home—or at least what was left of it—and found a water damaged structure creeping with pungent bacteria and crumbled wallpaper. He was neither somber nor exuberant. He simply told us his story...then happily bought us Chinese food.

That caught me off guard, too.

In Spring 2006, I went to Louisiana to help out with the Hurricane Katrina relief effort. Instead of distributing health supplies and the like, much of our efforts centered around “house gutting.” House gutting—which is as grueling as it sounds—is the process of removing all items from homes that had been damaged by the Hurricane and its subsequent flooding. This included furniture, personal items, and the walls themselves. Putrid stench? Garbage bin. Moldy wall? Sledgehammered. Rotted clothes? Thrown. For the sake of resident health, a lot of things had to go. We gutted a good number of houses there; among them was Frank’s.

Three days into the mission, our team leader informed us that Frank wished to meet.

“Remember the house we cleaned up the other day? By the bridge?”

Between the hectic scenes, I couldn’t.

“The owner wants to hang out with us in downtown New Orleans.”

That’s nice.

“Yeah, he’s treating us for dinner.”

Cool. Wait, what? A former New Orleans resident—his house nearly destroyed, his money obviously tapped—is treating random college kids to dinner?

That confused me.

I remember the day my team first met him. He walked into our school headquarters, faded jeans and red hat, a smile that carried much-needed light into the grim auditorium. It was after gutting hours so the sweat had drenched our t-shirts with moisture and an unfamiliar odor that was making me uncomfortable. But Frank smiled while he spoke to us. He didn’t seem to mind about the facilities and the smells.

“Long day?” he asked, smiling.

“You could say that.”

“Well, hopefully you guys aren’t too tired. It’s gonna be a fun night.”

And it was. We toured the New Orleans I had, until then, only dreamed of visiting—a pleasant, beautiful environment with lights lush and sounds and the gracious Southern treatment. Our four previous days had been spent constantly working on its torn outskirts, gutting homes and showering, so the trip came as a much-needed vacation to us. Frank was an extra gracious host. He brought us to a hot spots he used to frequent, recommended dishes at dinner, and drinks for dessert. He told us more about himself, how he worked as a carpenter, how he had come back from a relative’s home to check up on what used to be his house. He had heard organizations were helping out residents and that was when he caught wind of our team, the ones responsible for gutting his place. And that’s when he turned to us and told us:

“You know what? I’m so grateful for what you’re doing for me and my family.” He smiled, struggling to fight back tears.

At the pow-wow that night (we had late-night bonfires at HQ), I asked a fellow team member about Frank. It confused me that he was thanking us. I mean, we didn’t rebuild his house—we tore it apart piece-by-piece. We dismantled decades of memories, sentiment embedded in once gleaming walls of French trimming and glossy paint. We discarded boxes of photographs, proof of lives that had seen good times—better times—with the ease one possesses when discarding a dirty tissue. It all seemed so disheartening to me, gutting houses of the value that made them significant in the first place. How could he be so optimistic in the face of demise, of people coming into your home and throwing out baby pictures, love letters, and air conditioners? My partner shrugged and replied:

“I don’t know. Maybe he’s just grateful.”

And it hit me. That was it. What I had been overlooking the entire time. Frank wasn’t acting nor was he feigning compassion. He was sincerely grateful for us helping him out. I realized that he stopped looking at the negatives long ago, at what he had lost and instead focused on what he still had: his wife and son. Family. Memories of the city, places to eat, food to enjoy. Good times and good drinks. The opportunity to treat complete strangers like me and my team for Chinese food. Teeth with which to smile and to bear it all. Sure, the hurricane had taken his house but it didn’t topple his humanity. His generosity. His dignity. His mortgage on life.

I’ve realized that in a society centered around money, it’s exceptionally easy to forget about other people. To value paper currency over human lives, to place emphasis on the material at the expense of the meaningful. Likewise, it’s easy to attach your self-esteem to a bank account and to suffer emotionally when the balance dips red, when your friends brag about their luxuries. We’re all guilty of these vices. I know I am.

But it’s not fair to yourself—or anyone—to invest so much into the fleeting points of life. There are other types of capital as well, ones the economists cannot measure and ones the commercials on television will never tell you about. Like capital of relationships. Of happiness. The value of a loved one. The thrill of a birthday present. The relief that comes with a breeze on your summer skin. Prayer, bed talk, surprise texts, awkward moments—how can you replace those things with credit? You can’t. And why would you?

You don’t need a swimming pool in your living room. If you fill your pockets with gratitude, you’ll be the richest person alive. It’s not that difficult—just learn to love the things you overlook.

Take a deep breath, exhale, and smile. Write a list of three things that make you happy. And keep going. Surprise someone with a gift. Tip more than twenty percent. Smile at your grocery store cashier. The magical power of gratitude? The more you give to others, the more you’ll find it coming your way.

And Frank made me realize this just with a simple thank you.

The day before we left, Frank treated us to another lunch: Cajun food by the pier. He told us once more that he was grateful for our help and that he would miss us when we’d leave. We dined, we spoke, we finished the meeting with a group hug and went on our separates ways.

On the long (I mean, long) car ride back to New Jersey, I remember reflecting on his words.

“Thanks again. I love you guys. I don’t know how to make it up to you but someday I will. Honestly, you guys saved me. Really.”

I like to think Frank was the one who helped me out.

The Ivan Story

It was the same scene I saw every morning before going to my 2008 summer job: Grandma and four-year-old Ivan (the boy she babysat) in my living room watching Dora the Explora. But one week that summer, I took off from work and spent my days with Grandma and Ivan. This story is about that one particular week.

Day 1.

There I was watching Dora the Explora with Ivan. My Grandma had gone off to do her chores around the house, so I was solely responsible for watching over him. Unfortunately (or so it seemed at the time), our watching of Dora the Explora was interrupted by the sound of my phone ringing in my room on the second floor of the house. So, I started walking towards the stairs when I realized I couldn’t leave Ivan by himself in the living room. The logical thing to do: I brought him to “the upstairs” (as Ivan calls the second floor of my home).

After finishing my phone conversation, I noticed Ivan – very quiet, slowly completing a 360 degree visual scan of my room. Then he started touching some stuff in my room (without my permission – I didn’t mind, though); all the while with a look of genuine awe on his face.

Day 2.

We weren’t even 2 minutes into Dora the Explora, when Ivan asked me if he could play in “the upstairs.” And it hit me: Ivan didn’t even know that “the upstairs” existed before yesterday. And here he was, asking to play in that new place above the first floor ceiling. His mind and world were forever expanded to the dimensions of the second floor!

Now watching Dora the Explora in my room, he started exploring the rest of “the upstairs.” And I almost expected what happened next: He came across a curtain, which he soon discovered (after pulling it aside) leads to my attic – the third floor of my house.

Day 3.

I didn’t even have the chance to turn the television on before Ivan grabbed my hand and asked me to take him to “the up-upstairs” (aka: my attic).

And it hit me even harder: Wow. Just yesterday, Ivan didn’t know my attic existed; and now, he wants to play in that new place above the second floor ceiling!



I realized at that exact moment that Ivan would never be satisfied again just playing in my living room – the one place in my house he spent month after month prior to my one week off during that summer of 2008, living. Simply because he knew there was more. And as you would probably guess: The same pattern continued on Day 4 and Day 5 of my one week off from work. That summer, Ivan discovered not only the second floor and attic of my house, but went on to explore my basement, my backyard, and frontyard – expanding his world to include new places, images, objects, sounds, thoughts, experiences, and even emotions. He was seeing the rest of my house for the first time in his four-year life, full of pure excitement from simply discovering something new.

During my summer of 2008, I met not only a new friend, but a teacher, in little Ivan. He taught me that there’s so much more to this world, to this life, that remains at this very moment, undiscovered… unexplored. He inspired me to constantly stretch the limits of my known universe and in the process, learn, grow, and truly live.

To little kids, every day is an extraordinary opportunity to step into the shoes of “Dora the Explora”; they’re always discovering something new. We can, and should, still be the same way. Life never has to be unexciting. Life never is unexciting. And if it seems as though, then it simply means that we’re stuck in some living room, thinking that that’s all there is. But you’d be wrong! Be curious again! Walk around a little and you’ll surely find stairs leading to some “upstairs” (whatever that will mean to you) that you never previously knew existed!

As adults, we’ve all felt bored with work, school, and relationships. All “bored” really means is that we’ve stopped growing. If you’re bored with work, then set a goal to become the best at what you do! It’ll give you reason to want to get up in the morning and make a flawless masterpiece of your work day. Same thing with school: strive to really learn something in class. You’ll only be better off in doing so. And with relationships: each and every one of us is an infinite being. Therefore, we can never really run out of new things to learn about someone else (let alone yourself)! Just ask more interesting questions about your partner! And even if you do run out of things to learn about another person (highly unlikely, though), there’s always new foods, films, music, cities, woods, jungles, vacations, lakes, books, mountains, cars, blogs, pictures, beaches, clothes, churches, museums… (the list literally goes on forever) to experience… together.

Life is way too short to not live in the biggest possible world you could possibly live in. Redefine your idea of “possible” right now! Let this “Ivan Story” be that fortunate phone call from “the upstairs” that lets you know that there’s more! And make a commitment to start being a little more like Ivan and get out of that living room! Now! Start exploring new “second floors” in your life every single chance you’re blessed with!

The world, the universe, is unbelievably HUGE.

And life… it’s our ONE (exciting!) CHANCE to explore as much of it as we can.

A True JOCC Story by Julian Pormentilla.