- I spent most of my life measuring success in grades.
- After graduating from college, it was hard to adjust to a more arbitrary scale of achievement.
- Now, I know that regularly redefining success is a necessary part of a fulfilling life.
When I was 7, I was identified as a "gifted kid." That label of promised potential followed me from elementary-school enrichment programs to high-school AP classes, eventually earning me a degree from a top university.
It's no surprise that I measured my worth in numbers and letters as (mostly) objective indicators of success. Everyone knows what a 4.0 GPA or an A+ means. From an early age, I knew that I wanted those high marks more than anything.
My constant focus on getting the grade, earning the leadership title, and landing the job didn't come without sacrifice. I said no to social engagements. I treated sleep like it was optional. The gym? Forget it. I figured that when I landed my dream job after graduating, it would all feel worth it. Finally, I would have achieved the ultimate goal.
But when I started my first "real" job, I found myself wondering, "Now what?" For the first time in my life, the next step wasn't obvious— talk about a quarter-life crisis. I knew I had to learn how to measure success in this new environment.
I let go of the metrics of the past
Starting my postgrad job meant accepting feedback on an arbitrary scale—one that I quickly learned is often affected by relationships, tenures, and titles.
My GPA didn't matter anymore, and neither did my obnoxious, eight-line-long college email signature. All of those club memberships and academic affiliations disappeared from relevance. I felt bitter at first. After all, I had worked so hard, and none of it seemed to matter.
But then I reframed my stance: None of it mattered — none of the little things, at least. My not-so-stellar neuroscience grade? Sleeping through three of my 8 a.m. poetry classes in a semester? Submitting a late Spanish essay? None of it prevented me from pursuing my goals.
This realization was incredibly freeing. Now, I know that small mistakes don't outweigh consistency. I don't have to measure my self-worth in the number of corrections on a paper or how many extracurriculars I participate in. I get to decide what success means to me. I can choose what to pursue and when to switch paths. Letting go of the numbers that once defined me meant that I was no longer held to someone else's idea of "good enough."
I learned to part ways with my ego
My first professional projects came with a harsh learning curve. What would have earned me an A in my college classes was met with a flurry of edits and comments.
At first, I was upset with my performance. I felt like I had failed. I mentioned my frustrations in passing to a much more experienced colleague, and he gave me some wonderful advice: "Separate your ego from your work," he said, "and you will be amazed at how quickly you improve."
As a creative working in tech, I had to get used to receiving feedback from all kinds of stakeholders. I don't just write essays for a professor anymore. I write blogs and social-media posts that are read by customers, partners, and employees. Sometimes, this means my work is reviewed by 20 people or more before it's approved. That doesn't leave a lot of room for an unearned ego.
My current definition of success won't stay the same — and that's a good thing
Success might mean getting promoted — or it might not. Maybe it means discovering a new passion outside work. It might look like a commitment to health, exploring new places, or visiting friends and family. Achieving these goals might not make me better at my job, but I know it'll make me a better person, friend, and partner.
My new goals might look hazy compared to old ones, and they'll most likely shift as I progress in my career. I wish I'd known that life is less structured after school and less linear, too.
Still, in the modern world of social-media highlight reels, it can be difficult not to compare myself to my peers. Some days, I feel left out for not pursuing graduate school, and sometimes, I wonder whether I picked the right college or even the right city.
Despite all this uncertainty, I'm grateful for one thing I do know: Leading a satisfying life requires redefining success at different stages. Shifting my goals doesn't make me a failure; it makes me human.