My Love/Hate Relationship with Success: Part 1

I have a love/hate relationship with successful people. On one hand, I find them inspiring and interesting. They have bountiful talents and skills and don’t hesitate to share their goodness with others.

On the other hand, if I have to hear about one more person trumpeting his or her victories under the auspices of “once in a lifetime opportunity” that they were “lucky” enough to “fall” into, I’m going to scream. If you land a freelance gig with Forbes within the first two weeks of starting you blog and call that a “gift” or a “blessing”, we’re probably not going to be friends. Not because there’s anything wrong with you, successful person. I just hate everything right now.

I’m sure I’ll alienate a few people but I think you just need to call a spade a spade sometimes. It’s not personal, successful person, more just a general malaise with the state of my affairs.

Here’s a terrible poem about my hate:

I hate successful people in all their forms…

It’s tiresome and boring, they leave me lukewarm.

I hate their motivation, their schedules, and their organization…

I wish I could give myself something for sedation.

 I hate their perfect worlds and their perfect plans…

And their “last minute” trips to Cannes (France).

I hate the way every blog post sounds like an Emmy award acceptance speech.

I hate their words, I’d really rather just pet a leech.

I hate their smiling faces, their pretty hair and their effortless flair.

It’s all I can do to not give them a glare.

I hate their cross-fit training and their beautiful giving. Curing cancer is next on the list!

By now, I’m sure you’re getting the gist.

I hate their perfection and the way they’re always thin,

I’d love to kick them in their successful shin.

I hate their good looking boyfriends and their fabulous lives in New York.

If I have to hear about it one more time, I’m going to gag myself with a fucking fork.

I hate the way sugar wouldn’t melt in their mouth

Wow, do I wish they would just go south (I hear Antarctica is nice this time of -year).

I hate their charities, their conferences to better the world, and how they just dug five village wells…

Did I mentioned they saved the gazelles?

I hate how I feel petty and so very small…

And that they loom so big, so large and so very tall. (I just want to kick the back of their knees and watch them fold like a cheap lawn chair. That’ll bring ‘em down to size).

I hate their modesty and how everything they touch turns to gold…

I demand they go away, just do what they’re told.

I know they’re good people and I’ll like them one day,

Maybe I’ll even ask them over to play.

But right now I hate them, really I do, and that’s the way it’s going to stay.

For a while anyway…

THE END

I’m not a happy, shiny person. What can I say?