What Are You Calling Success?

A closer look at what makes us feel accomplished—and whether it reflects the life we're trying to build.

I've spent a lot of my life knowing exactly what makes me feel accomplished. I love a productive day. I love getting things done, solving problems, watching something I've worked hard for grow, and going to bed knowing I made progress. I've built businesses, raised children, managed more responsibilities than I probably should have at times, and learned how to function at a pretty high capacity. For a long time, if I ended the day tired because I had accomplished a lot, that usually felt like a good day to me.

I don't think there's anything wrong with that. I still love accomplishing things. I love goals, growth, business, and the feeling that comes from working hard for something and seeing the results. But as I've gotten older and started paying closer attention to the life I'm actually creating, I've become curious about something I don't think I ever intentionally considered before: How did I decide what makes a day successful?

Because I've noticed something interesting in myself. There have been days when I've worked from morning until night, handled a dozen problems, moved business forward, made money, taken care of everyone who needed something from me, and ended the day feeling incredibly accomplished. Then there have been days when I didn't accomplish nearly as much on paper, but I exercised, spent time with my girls, had a long conversation with someone I love, sat outside, prayed, rested, laughed, or did something simply because I enjoyed it. And sometimes, strangely enough, those days haven't always given me the same feeling of achievement.

That made me wonder why.

Why is it so easy for me to recognize the value of a productive day but sometimes harder to recognize the value of a peaceful one? Why can growing a business immediately register in my mind as progress, while taking care of my body can feel like something I need to fit in around everything else? Why does checking ten things off a list feel more measurable than an hour spent having a conversation with one of my daughters? Both matter to me. In fact, if you asked me which things I value most in my life, my answer wouldn't begin with my to-do list.

And that's where this became more than a conversation about productivity for me. It made me curious about the invisible ways we measure our own lives.

I think we all have some kind of internal scorecard, whether we've intentionally created one or not. Certain things make us feel like we're doing well. Maybe it's how much we accomplish. Maybe it's growing a business, making money, taking care of our families, keeping a beautiful home, exercising, being needed, serving others, or simply keeping everything together. None of those things are inherently good or bad measurements. What interests me is whether the things that make us feel most accomplished actually match the things we say matter most to us.

For example, what happens when your business is doing better than it ever has, but your health has slowly started declining? You're succeeding according to one measurement while another part of your life may be asking for more attention. What happens when you've created financial security but have very little time to enjoy the freedom you thought the money would create? Or when you've become incredibly dependable to everyone around you, but taking care of yourself continually falls to the bottom of the list?

It doesn't necessarily mean anything is wrong. It may simply mean it's worth looking at.

That's what I'm learning to do in my own life—not abandon ambition, but expand my definition of achievement. I don't want to stop being driven. I don't want to stop building, working, dreaming, or setting big goals. I just don't want those to be the only things that get counted when I decide whether I'm doing well.

I've started to realize that the things we measure tend to become the things we prioritize. If I only measure my day by what I accomplished, then naturally I will keep choosing accomplishment. If I measure success by how much money I make, then opportunities to make more will continue to feel more important than things that can't be measured financially. If being needed makes me feel valuable, I may continue saying yes long after I have the capacity to give.

But there are so many important parts of life that don't give us immediate evidence of progress.

There isn't a scoreboard for the conversation you had with your child that made her feel safe enough to tell you something difficult. There isn't a promotion for taking care of your body. No one gives you an award because you finally created a healthy boundary. There's no commission check attached to sitting quietly with God. You don't get a certificate for becoming more patient, more peaceful, more forgiving, more emotionally healthy, or more present.

Those things are harder to measure.

But that doesn't make them less valuable.

Maybe part of becoming our best selves is learning to recognize progress that doesn't always look like achievement.

For me, that means looking beyond what I completed and becoming more aware of who I was while I was completing it. Was I constantly stressed and rushing? Was I present? Did I take care of myself? Did I make space for the people who matter to me? Did I spend my entire day responding to what everyone else needed and never once ask what I needed? Did I make choices from peace or simply react to whatever felt most urgent?

I don't expect every day to be perfectly balanced. I don't even know if I believe balance is always possible. Life has seasons. There are times when business requires more. There are times when our children require more. There are financial seasons, family seasons, seasons of opportunity, seasons of healing, and seasons when just getting through what is in front of us is enough.

I'm less interested in whether every day is balanced and more interested in whether, over time, the way I'm living reflects what I say I value.

And that is where I think this becomes a really interesting coaching exercise, because before we decide what needs to change, we can simply become curious about what is already there.

Start by finishing this sentence without thinking too much about the answer:

I feel accomplished at the end of the day when __________.

Then finish this one:

I feel like I wasted a day when __________.

Pay attention to what comes up. There isn't a right answer. The point isn't to judge yourself or immediately decide you need to change. It's simply to notice the scorecard you've been using.

Then ask yourself a few more questions.

What gets the best of me right now, and what usually gets whatever is left?

What am I most proud of accomplishing, and what has it required from me to accomplish it? Who may be suffering?

Is there an area of my life that looks successful but doesn't feel as successful as it appears?

What do I regularly feel guilty for making time for?

What part of myself have I been saying I'll take care of when life slows down?

If nothing about the way I'm living changed for the next five years, would I be happy with where it is taking me?

And then I think there is another layer worth exploring.

Instead of only asking what you want to achieve, ask yourself what you want to be known for.

I can tell you a lot of things I want to accomplish. I still have business goals. Financial goals. Personal goals. Places I want to travel. Things I want to build. There is a lot of life I still want to experience.

But when I think about my five girls describing me someday, I don't think the things I want them to say first have much to do with what I accomplished.

I want them to say their mom was there.

I want them to remember that I listened. That we laughed. That I was strong but also soft. That I worked hard but knew there was more to life than work. That I loved people well. That I wasn't afraid to change when something in me needed to change. That I had faith when life didn't make sense. That I kept learning. That I apologized when I got it wrong. That I took them on adventures and also made ordinary days feel meaningful. I want them to remember a woman who became more peaceful, more loving, more present, and more herself as she got older.

And that thought changes the scorecard for me.

Because if those are the things I eventually want them to remember, then those are things I have to make important now.

Our children won't someday describe the person we intended to become. They'll remember the person they experienced.

And maybe you don't have children, or maybe that's not the relationship that speaks most deeply to you. Think about the people you love most. If they were sitting around a table many years from now telling stories about you, what would you hope they would say?

Would they say you made them feel loved?

Would they say you were joyful?

Would they say you were someone they could call?

Would they remember your courage? Your generosity? Your faith? Your curiosity? Your strength? Your kindness? Would they say you knew how to enjoy your life? Would they say you made people feel seen?

Then ask yourself one final question:

Does the way I'm measuring success today make room for me to become that person?

Maybe the answer is yes. Maybe you've built a life that reflects exactly what matters to you, and recognizing that gives you even more reason to appreciate it.

Maybe there are simply a few things you'd like to count differently.

And maybe there is an area where your answer makes you realize you want to make a change.

You don't have to overhaul your entire life tomorrow. Choose one thing that deserves to start counting.

Maybe taking care of your health gets to count as achievement. Maybe an uninterrupted hour with your children gets to count. Maybe rest counts. Maybe prayer counts. Maybe saying no counts. Maybe making the phone call counts. Maybe doing something simply because it brings you joy counts.

Keep the goals. Keep dreaming. Keep building. Keep becoming.

Just make sure the scorecard you're using is measuring more than what you've accomplished.

Because someday, when the people we love tell the story of who we were, they probably won't remember how many things we checked off our lists.

They'll remember how it felt to live life with us.

And I think that deserves to count as success, too.