A Secret Message from Emerson or My Future Self?

—Uncovering a 40-year-old mystery

Last week, while searching for some old photos, I spotted the corner of a teal green, oversized postcard.

Even though less than a square inch was visible, I knew instantly what it said.

The energy of the hidden words—To laugh often and much—vibrated through me, bringing both a sting of regret and a jolt of anticipation. Then came a flood of memories: high school English, toddler giggles, heart-stretching conversations, weeds, withering plants and…my breath caught…failures.

This mosaic of memories, the scent of a long-unopened cardboard box and the peek of that unmistakable green brought me to a bittersweet place of hope and disappointment.

In a singular moment, I experienced anticipation and uncertainty from the past collide with encouragement and regret from the future. The middle of an ordinary day presented a sacred invitation to pause. A moment to honor the complexity and the simplicity of the present moment.

A poem’s secret message

A simple postcard triggered my flashback, but it was the words I’d committed to memory during my high school English class that constricted my throat

To win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children.

Ms. Guetschow might be disappointed to know, I’ve always struggled to remember if it was Emerson or Thoreau who wrote these words. They were two of my favorite essayists and philosophers, thanks to her class. But I imagine she’d be pleased to know Ralph Waldo Emerson’s simple poem was more than past sentiment. His words about success became the secret message guiding me towards my future achievements.

This poem “appeared” in my life when I needed it most. The first time was in high school when I looked to the future and dreamed of what my life would be like in five, 10, or even 20 years—college, career, children, commitment, curiosity, courage. Each line of the poem planted both literal and metaphorical seeds for my philosophy on success. Spelled out in less than 80 words were the ideas I hoped to live by. At seventeen years old, it seemed a great place to start.

A postcard’s pilgrimage

Fast forward seven years and the poem resurfaced on “the postcard”—a thank you to volunteers from the March of Dimes Foundation. As a young professional, I remember getting this postcard in the mail and comparing my life with the values I had committed to following as a teenager

To earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty; to find the best in others.

My success meter measured lukewarm. I was too concerned with minimizing mistakes. I needed to prove I was deserving of a job I loved, and worthy of the inspirational leaders mentoring me.

This meant I often failed to see the beauty in the Minnesota seasons, or give grace to colleagues who were offering their best even as they missed their commitments. Emerson was reminding me of who I’d dreamed of becoming not that long ago. So I pressed a white thumbtack into the top of the postcard and gave it a prominent spot on my cubicle’s wall.

A few years later, I moved, and the postcard came with me, now part of my office accessories—an artificial plant, a pet picture, and personalized Post-it notes. I proudly posted the poem in my new cubicle, determined to become more aware of the beauty in my new surroundings.

It helped that our conference room windows faced the Colorado foothills. And almost every morning, while the red light at the interstate off-ramp forced me to stop, I turned it into an opportunity to appreciate the grand mountain rising before me—Pike’s Peak.

Each day it was different. The 14,000-foot peak of rugged rocks could be snow-capped or raw. The backdrop might be Colorado blue skies or grey snow-clouds. Pike’s Peak often presented itself as regal and alone. And on those rare, special days, it became a part of the “purple mountains majesties,” Katherine Lee Bates wrote about in “America the Beautiful.” Seeing the mountain became my daily reminder and part of a spiritual practice: pause, breathe and soak in the beauty. Whenever I recalled Emerson’s words, it felt like planting a small seed of success.

More seeds of success

To find the best in others…another dormant seed germinated a few years later when I took a business trip to France. European customers and employees filled our user group conference, all eager to learn and also share their software struggles.

People I had politely listened to on the phone and judged as “complainers” while I was in the US suddenly became brilliant advocates for a stronger product solution. Of course, they hadn’t changed. But when you have broken bread with someone, your walls and defenses also soften and crack open, like seeds as they germinate. I began to see the best in these co-creators, which allowed me to see the best in their suggestions.

But the strongest beliefs must be tested.

The dark corners of success

Two days later, on September 10, 2001, I flew home to Colorado, determined to nurture this new perspective in my personal and professional life. The next morning, my enthusiasm collapsed, along with my breath as I watched the horrific crumbling of the Twin Towers. I tried to fathom the unbelievable loss of life.

I only wanted to keep my arms wrapped around my three-year-old son and reconnect with my husband, now grounded at the Denver airport. Knowing I also needed to show up and support my team, I reluctantly made the commute to the office.

I don’t remember the drive or the view of Pike’s Peak that day. Having been overseas for almost a week, however, I saw my office with fresh eyes. While nothing had changed while I was gone, the familiar felt foreign.

Each plant, picture and Post-it note seemed different, but not worthy of my attention. However, I vividly remember seeing the green postcard pinned to my bulletin board. The words assaulted me as I sank into my office chair

To find the best in others; to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition.

How? Why? When did we stop looking for the best in others? Was it even possible in horrific circumstances?

How could I expect myself or anyone to seek the best in these terrorists and in the organizations they supported? They had unleashed untamable anger, fear and hatred into the world. And their own uncontrolled fire had ignited the same in most of the global population.

In that moment, I gladly skipped “finding the best in others” and accepted failure rather than live by Emerson’s definition of success.

Life would let me have my edited version of success—find the best in others, except for terrorists—for now.

Six months later, with the technology bubble bursting and our company being sold to investors, I was laid off. I unpinned the green postcard from my wall and set it in the box of personal items.

I left my office on that last day, weighed down with more than the few personal items from my desk and bookcase. I carried with me the exhaustion and disappointment of having committed so many hours to a company that no longer saw my value. In reality, my commitment was to the people I worked with. But as the door closed behind me, I didn’t think about my last promotion or product launch. Instead, I treasured the mutual respect I’d fostered with my intelligent colleagues—a small seed of success.

However, as I loaded the box into my car, I resisted finding the best in the new management when they hadn’t bothered to find the best in me.

When I got home that day, I brought my box to the basement and quickly sorted through it, looking for anything I would need to support my next job search. My hand flipped past the green postcard. A healthy child, a garden patch.

A new call to success

For the first time, the words called to me, not in Emerson’s philosophical tone. It came as a familiar voice. Like a voice from the future—a call to become.

Winter melted into spring, and my son was now four—the golden age of curiosity and learning. I would put my career success on hold “temporarily” and focus on a more holistic health practice for myself and my entire family: sleep, stillness, and suppers together.

My mission became to learn about the best ways to nurture our physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual health. A BIG mission, and one that eventually led me to experiments for not only our lifestyle, but also our gardens of vegetables, flowers and shrubs.

Transforming our lifestyle brought many failures, some extremely painful. Relationships with family and friends were sometimes strained by attitudes about me being a stay-at-home mom. I also often struggled with patience, trust and vulnerability. Those treasured life lessons our children and those who know us best give us multiple chances to learn. To find the best in others—why was this SO hard, even with people I loved?

In a blink, my “temporary” mission became my focus for the next 15 years. There were certainly days where navigating the teen brain and rollercoaster of emotions for one hour seemed a lot harder than a whole day of juggling product launches, the hiring process, and multiple executive-level presentations. But I can honestly say that I frequently paused and soaked in the success of leaving the world a bit better through my healthy child and reasonably healthy garden patch.

Then came the day I both hoped for and dreaded. The day our man-child left home for his own adventures and search for success. I continued improving my “garden patch of life” through expanded time and effort, but I felt strangely stuck. A deeply rooted longing tugged at my heart—there had to be something more to my success story.

I had no clear idea what that was, but when I took the time to be still and listen to my inner voice, I discovered a few clues. And those were enough to start some experiments—new ones and old ones I initially failed to see as already underway.

The success experiments and failures

I wrote more, experimented with different writing styles, and took a deep dive into story theory. I almost drowned. Fortunately, a life raft and some “swimming” mentors appeared. Next, I launched a couple of websites and a lifestyle coaching business.

As most writers and entrepreneurs know, it’s a slow, intentional process to achieve success. Even when you dare think, “Today was a successful day at the office,” you know how hard it is to pause and take a breath because the to-do list is never-ending. And then there were the days when everything felt like a failure. The days I wondered why I thought I was a writer or an entrepreneur or a loving partner or a supportive friend. When the garden wagon’s wheels all seemed to come off at once.

Last week was one of those days. A day of failures, everywhere I looked.

When a long walk didn’t shift my mindset, I turned to a favorite numbing tool—a trip down memory lane. The Candyland version of memory lane. The one where I remembered life’s sweetest moments and minimized the struggles. My memories wandered through Gumdrop Pass, landed on the Peanut Brittle House and successfully navigated the Lollipop Woods before my crowning moment at the Candy Castle. Sweet success! Like playing board game, my distraction strategy ended too quickly, and it was back to reality.

I’d been meaning to find a couple of old photos for a family project and this seemed like the perfect day to give my brain one task: find the photos in one of three boxes. I managed not to get sucked into the molasses swamp of old family pictures and handwritten letters. I stayed focused and made progress.

Until I opened the second box—the office box.

I don’t remember opening this box since my last day at that office. I had only lifted a couple sheets of paper when I saw the corner of the green postcard. The words came rushing back to me, before I had fully pulled it from the stack of papers.

To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty; to find the best in others; to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition; to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded.

But I realized there was something missing from this postcard version: To earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends.

The missing message

I’m not sure why I had never noticed this before. I wondered why the March of Dimes Foundation had shortened the poem, leaving out this very important line. Maybe it “fit” better on the postcard or maybe it felt “wrong” to talk about false friends in a thank you note to volunteers? I would never know, but I got curious. Was I missing any other words? Maybe my mind or my memory had shortened it as well.

After a few quick searches on the internet, I found the complete poem. But much to my surprise, the Quote Investigator traced these words to an essay written by Bessie A. Stanley. The Emporia Gazette of Emporia, Kansas published it on December 11, 1905. The subject of the essay contest was “What constitutes success?”

He has achieved success who has lived well, laughed often and loved much; who has gained the respect of intelligent men and the love of little children; who has filled his niche and accomplished his task; who has left the world better than he found it, whether by an improved poppy, a perfect poem, or a rescued soul; who has never lacked appreciation of earth’s beauty or failed to express it; who has always looked for the best in others and given them the best he had; whose life was an inspiration; whose memory a benediction.

Surprise! All these years, as I struggled to remember if Emerson or Thoreau wrote this poem, I was wrong on both counts. Bessie A. Stanley’s words had shaped and challenged my views on success for decades.

However, even her original poem didn’t include the haunting words that invited me to expand my definition of success—endure the betrayal of false friends. Did it matter if these words were not in her original poem? Maybe, for the purposes of accuracy and authenticity. But just like the original question called for an answer from Stanley, the question of “what constitutes success” calls to each of us…daily.

And how will we react when ordinary and extraordinary circumstances test or shatter our tidy answers? What happens when life forces us to refine our responses? Do we dismiss the moment, or dig in?

Life would no longer allow me to ignore the dark corners of success: heartbreak, contempt, grief, regret and, of course, betrayal.

Digging into the dark corner of betrayal

I knew betrayal both in my personal and professional life. False friends who smiled in my presence and ripped at my reputation when I was absent. Peers who promised to work as a team, only to grab credit or intentionally discredit my work. I wasn’t able to find the best in them, but I found comfort and grew stronger knowing I had endured these personal deceptions.

I could celebrate my ability to weather the “small” betrayals that impacted only me, but would my foundation hold up to betrayals on a much larger scale? Inspired by Stanley’s poem, could these additional words—endure the betrayal of false friends—be a blueprint for repairing the 20-year-old heartache and scars created by the events of September 11th?

Like most philosophical reflections, there were more questions than answers. There would not be an overnight solution. This became my own trail to blaze in my own heart. I couldn’t leave the world a bit better by redeeming a social condition like hate on a global scale. But with patience, reflection and love, I had hope for redeeming at least a portion of it in my life…and that was a solid first step towards success.

I found peace in knowing I was part of a strong but imperfect country. One that had endured the betrayal of “false friends.” Individuals who entered the United States intending to betray and kill and plant seeds of fear and hatred.

To endure…that is part of success. We cannot escape the pain of betrayal in our personal lives or on the global scale. And who among us can say we have not betrayed another? Certainly not me. But I also found the seeds of success by seeking honest criticism and enduring betrayal, including those times I have betrayed my true self. Because when I am heart-centered, I eventually see the dandelions as more than bothersome weeds.

To know even one life has breathed easier because you lived. This is to have succeeded.

This is the line that lights me up when darkness threatens. When I feel like quitting…when I can only see the failures. Because of Bessie A. Stanley and those who built on her words, I know I have breathed easier. And now that you’ve come to know or be reacquainted with her words, I hope you have also discovered your own successes woven in her thoughts. Maybe for a moment, you even breathed easier.

Bessie A. Stanley was a successful writer because she dared to write. She was successful because every line of this poem came from someone who had experienced or witnessed success, and failure, too. She was successful not because she had the perfect answer to “What constitutes success?” She was successful because she took the time to explore and define her own beliefs about success. She was successful because her words prompted a seventeen-year-old to spend a lifetime seeking and refining her own answers about what defines success.

Bessie A. Stanley’s words allowed my Future Self to remind my present self of who I wanted to become.

While I can celebrate my achievements in many of these concepts surrounding success, it was my Future Self who found a way to put Stanley’s words in front of me in the moments I most needed it, whether it was the postcard or lines triggered by memories. The words reminded me to be bold and relentless in defining and pursuing success.

For me, success is found in the milestones of everyday moments on my journey. This includes my ongoing efforts to laugh more often (especially at myself), to embrace humility while working in the clay soil of a Colorado garden, to endure personal and global hardships with love and forgiveness, and to persevere through failures so I can eventually share my writing with others.

And as most writers would agree, to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived, because you have written...this is success.*

What matters most, is not how you answer the question, but rather if you take the time to answer it. Will you dare to start today?

How do you define success?

Grab a pen or a poem and start creating your thoughts on success!

*Thank you to my favorite teachers, Nancy Guetschow and Audrey Scheide—two of the best! I have breathed easier because you lived.

Join me in planting more seeds for success. Get a jumpstart on transforming you life and living into your dreams by downloading my free guide: The Three Starter Seeds.