Me and Jodie, Success and Failure

There was an interesting article in the newspaper about the latest movie directed by Jodie Foster, “Money Monster.” According to Frank Bruni, who wrote this piece, the movie is, “a meditation on failure: how keenly people fear it, what they do when confronted with it.” 

Is it refreshing to know that Jodie Foster feels like a failure? Or is it depressing? Is it liberating to know she grapples with inadequacy? Or does it make you want to lie down and pull a newpaper over your face and take a real long snooze? She’s had a few awards, and directed and acted in a couple of things you might want to forget. (“Tay-ay in the wiy-yind,” anyone?*) But I think we can all agree that she is a big fat success. She's a success not just because of her achievements, though, Readers. She's a success because she keeps on working, even when the outcome is "The Beaver." Or "Nell." 

“Does she often think of herself as a failure?” Bruni writes. “Failure is a big one for me,” she says. “‘Oh yeah,’ she said. ‘Oh my god, yeah. if Mother Teresa is propelled to do good works because she believes in God, I am propelled to do good works because of how bad I feel about myself. It’s the first place I go. “Oh, what did I do wrong?’”

Wow. I have something in common with Jodie Foster after all. Along with having no face work done. And highlighted hair. And being, as they said when I tried on wedding dresses, "low to the ground." I can relate to the failure thing. 

But where Jodie and I differ is how failure operates on us. Apparently it propels her towards outstanding acting and awards; me, well, I go to therapy. And I blog. And write books, apparently.

So. Yeah. The lesson is clear. She says she funnels her sense of failure into proving herself worthy through good work. I think that’s an excellent idea. I pass it on to you for your contemplation, Readers. 

What are you funneling your existential despair, fear of failure, and sense of inadequacy into? Binge-eating? Depression? Or action? 

The other day I came across something I typed up while killing time during my first job out of college. I was a receptionist in a law firm. Oh, my God, was that boring. When the phone wasn’t ringing, I performed calisthenics behind the desk. I also, apparently, read quotes from Marianne Williamson and typed them up for my amusement.

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?' Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others. ― Marianne Williamson, A Return to Love: Reflections on the Principles of "A Course in Miracles"

I found that inspiring, as I recall. It was a nice one-eighty from what I usually considered my deepest fear. I read that passage and wondered was my deepest fear really that I was powerful? Because it really did feel like it was that I was inadequate. 

Basically, my inner child really needed to hear she was special. And people just were not lining up to tell her. So I was trying to amass proof. 

The problem with the constant seeking of proof of specialness is that it runs right up against this idea of the growth mindset. Thanks to Carol Dweck, we are no longer allowed to believe in the limits of our intelligence. Nothing is fixed. All is potential. How lovely to be annointed a special one, with a special intelligence or a special something or other that makes success inevitable. 

But, really, is that possible? Isn’t seeking that type of assurance the same as having a fixed mindset? It’s the same kind of mindset that believes that you have to have a particular makeup in order to succeed, so you spend your time trying to prove to yourself that you do have It. Instead of pursing your goals. 

Yes, you are special. So am I. We are all special. And yes, therefore, nobody is actually special. Not even Jodie Foster. She's not special-special.** You’re not special-special. Isn’t that ok? 

What might be special, however, is the work you produce when you try to transcend yourself. Or just to express yourself - which is what I hope for, nothing more, really. 

Samuel Johnson (1709-1784), who would have been a blogger, battling Montaigne for followers, if the Internet had existed back when he did - and if he and Montaigne had lived at the same time - had this to say about success and despondency: "From torpid despondency, can come no advantage; it is the frost of the soul, which binds up all its powers, and congeals life in perpetual sterility. He that has no hopes of success, will make no attempts; and where nothing is attempted, nothing can be done."

Johnson: Adventurer #81 (August 14, 1753)

So I guess another thing I have in common with Jodie is that fear of failure, which is really just the hope for success dressed up in drapey black clothes and goth eyeliner. 

*That’s from “Nell,” which, interesting to me, Jodie’s mother told her not to do. Just mentioning that because my authority as a mom is about zilch these days, what with two teenagers. Jodie might have listened to her mom. But, no. Anyway, it was a learning experience, I’m sure. 

** I'm sorry, Readers, but I just can't do it. I actually think Jodie Foster is pretty special. Call me a hypocrite. I can take it. Well, I can't - but I'll discuss it with my therapist.

Core Values

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Have you noticed that these days it’s all about having a strong core? Core strength is the catchall, must-have, source of all good things for the Two Thousand Tweens. Like stress-induced illness was considered to be in the 1990s, lack of core strength is at the root of all of our problems, according to every article on health and fitness I read. Sure, Pilates devotees have known about this for years. And Martha Graham might’ve had a thing or two to say about core strength. But now, in the popular culture, it’s core, core, core everyday.

Just the other week, upon the recommendation of my running friend Jane, I breezed through Chi Running, by Danny Dreyer, to get some pointers on running form. They  boil down to these three: assume correct posture, tighten your abdominals, and lean forward when you run. Three different ways of saying, engage your core. Because when you stand correctly, you engage your abs; when you tighten them, you are by definition doing the same; and when you try to lean forward when you run, you are forced to engage your core. Try it. Just try standing up straight with good posture and then leaning forward with your feet flat on the floor, bending only at your ankles. Your core must engage.

All this core focus lends itself nicely to sports-life analogies about how to be truly successful in sports or life, you need a strong one. Stephen Covey would agree. As would Montaigne. As would I. And as would, you guessed it, my faithful readers, Heidi Grant Halvorson, Ph.D, who weighs in on the subject of core values in chapter 5 of Succeed: Goals Can Make You Happy.  She talks about different kinds of goals, and says, “Not all goals will bring you lasting happiness and well-being, even if you are successful in reaching them. The ones that will are those that satisfy your basic human needs for relatedness, competence, and autonomy. “ (p. 121)

Basic human needs. Principle-centered life. Strong abs. Core values.

Let me tell you, you need a strong core to stomach the other book I read recently on my vacation, Odd Girl Out, by Rachel Simmons. This is a book about how girls bully other girls. Simmons's thesis is that, despite being a "post feminist" society, we still expect girls to be nice. What this means is that when girls feel anger, they have no direct ways to express it. Unlike boys, whose aggression is tolerated, girls don't feel free to express theirs. So they go underground to express it, all under the guise of niceness. Adults in their lives often, therefore, miss it. Also, because their aggression is subtle and under the radar, they can deny it exists. Their weapons are rumor-mongering, ignoring, excluding, turning others against the girl they've identified as a problem, and generally isolating her.

The book is full of stories of girl hating girl. Since I was hated on when I was a girl, and since I have two daughters, the book called out to me. Actually, it was a mom friend on Facebook who called out to me a few weeks ago, after I posted that the 10 year-old's best friend had said to her, after discovering they'd both been invited to another girl's birthday party, "I'm surprised you were invited to K's party. I didn't know you were friends." My 10-year-old explained that she and K had been on the same soccer team, that K had been to her party, and that they'd been in the same class in 3rd grade. Her friend then said, "Well, that doesn't seem like enough." After that post, this mom friend messaged me that she and some other moms were reading Odd Girl Out together, so I checked it out of the library. You know, for  light beach reading. 

After my second sleepless night, the husband forbade me to read it before bed. 

"But I have to finish it," I said. "There has to be a section about how to handle the bad stuff. They can't just write these awful stories." 

"Yes, you have to finish it," he said. "You have to find out what to do to stop it. Just not before bed."

So what does this have to do with my ten year old asking her friend how she ranks on her list of favorite friends? I know, you’re cringing. I cringed, too, when she told me she did this. What does a strong core have to do with the 10-year-old’s best friend ranking her at #2? This friend who calls all the time. This friend who never wants the playdates to end. This friend ranked my 10-year-old at #2. And what does the 10-year-old say to this? Was she upset by this?

No.

No? She shrugged and said, #2 is not bad.

People, I ask you.  

Some time ago I posted the following list on the refrigerator.

I got it from NPR. Some expert, whose name I missed because I tuned into the program late, was talking about essentials of good character. I don't attend any religious services of any kind, except the Jewish High Holidays, so I tend to worry whether my children are acquiring solid morals. I figured taping this to the fridge was just as good as regular Shabbat services. And much less expensive than Hebrew school. Last time I checked, NPR was still free. I am happy to report that the younger daughter (the 10-year-old), who was probably 8 at the time, ran through the list and found herself in possession of each and every item on it.

Job done. Good morals. Good core. Will withstand any girl on girl bullying, will not participate in any, nor be a guilty bystander.

I have done a good job. Success. 

People, I ask you.  

From Coattails to Platform: Success the New-Fashioned Way

I've been blogging on success for nearly a year, which seems like a good time to take stock of this blog.

Good news! My readership has grown. Nowadays, my obsessive stats-checks of my blog traffic never yield zero hits, and that is certainly and definitely and meaningfully success. Of a baby-step sort. I mean, hello, isn't it time for The Huffington Post to discover me? Or Forbes? Or Babble? Babble would be great.

My three most popular posts are  Why Habit #2 Might Kill You; But If It Doesn't, You'll Be Stronger , Help Yourself to Success, and Highly Effective Habit #1: Be Proactive.  These are about Dale Carnegie and Stephen Covey. Whenever I mention Mr. Dale Carnegie or Mr. Stephen Covey or their most famous books, my hits increase. If I mention them and have a catchy title, my hits really, really increase.

So I've learned something about success: I must ride on the coattails of famous men. Or become one myself.

How to Live

image via Wikipedia through Creative Commons

I once considered majoring in Classics. For some reason, admitting this embarrasses me. Probably because it reminds me of my huge, thick glasses and my complete set of railroad tracks, and my adolescent earnestness in search of Wisdom. I distinctly recall telling my interviewer at Wellesley that I'd like to start a Latin club.

Which I did not. I took a final semester of Latin. I'd been hoping for a class on Catullus' dirty poetry; but they didn't offer it. A semester translating 80-line chunks of Pastoral poetry was the fork in the road for me.

What I loved about the classics, though, was that all these guys were busy thinking about how to live, a topic that appealed to me then as much as it does now. Although most of those guys were Greek, and I didn't read Greek. I read them in English.

I touched on this in another post—how it’s easier to admit to materialism (I love my iPhone4s)  than to an interest in wisdom or meditation or things that might be grouped under spirituality.  That in our culture—or at least in my subsection of it—that kind of talk just doesn’t happen. You’ve got your psychological and your rational and your political conversations. It’s harder to get to those other kind,  the How to Live conversations.

So the other day I came across a book called How to Live in our local indie bookstore. It’s by Sarah Bakewell. How to Live: A Life of Montaigne in One Question and Twenty-One Attempts at an Answer.

How could I resist? It's philosophy, after a fashion, not self-help. But, after all, the essense of most of these self-help books on success is really about how to live in a way that makes success more likely. And that way usually involves delving into what really matters to you, what is most important, so that you can shape your goals around that.