If you read the two previous blog entries, you could scoff, "You've made it, so you can talk that way."
Yes, I am a successful author, and I've now made a living from it for thirty years. But that's still not how I define success. To people like my unnamed friend, success shows itself in the external world—accomplishing certain things.
I know several authors who earn a living—and some gross far more than I ever will—but they're no more contented than I am. And some lead miserable lives, constantly trying to bump their sales record or hit the New York Times' best-seller list with each project.
I'd like to sell more books and bring in more money. I see nothing wrong with that. But for me, the sales figures are byproducts of a healthy relationship with myself and my Creator. My contentment rests on my firmly held faith that God is ultimately in control and my role is to be content wherever I find myself.
I'm contented, but not lazy. I still work as hard at the craft as I always have, but my emotions aren't fixed to the results.