What is success?

A busy week this past week; in brief:

Tuesday:

- Not much work at work, but after work, worked hard at getting a nice pair of shoes for the office.
- Followed the shoe-hunting with a nice dinner with Mr. Rocks down in the Wall Street hood.

Wednesday:

- In the a.m., asked a retired partner (euphemistically called "Senior Counsel") about his pro bono mediation; turns out he's trying to break into the field, and invites me to come along to one the next day.
- This necessitates buying a suit for real, so I plan to do so before the chocolate tasting, only I get slammed with two assignments two hours before I was planning to slip out, so I just call the associate who gave me the second assignment and say hey, I can't do your assignment today. Sorry!
- The chocolate tasting was interesting ("Do you taste the citrus?" "No, it tastes kind of like old tobacco to me.") but stomach-achey. It was held at a partner's bazillion-dollar townhouse on the Upper East Side (I didn't even know there WERE houses for the rich in New York - I thought they all lived in penthouses on Park Ave.). That ended around 9 pm, at which point I returned to the office and worked until 12:30. Well, at least I got a free dinner and a car ride home.

Thursday:

- I went to the funnest mediation EVER. It was all about money, both parties had money to spare, so it was just shuttling back and forth between two groups of people playing their roles perfectly -- blustering, acting outraged, making like they were about to leave the room, etc. But everyone knew it was a game.
- Around midday, there were rumblings about lunch, but one party had to leave at 2:30, so no one wanted to take the time to go out for lunch. There were more rumblings about sending someone out to get lunch. The retired partner wondered aloud if the mediation office might have any menus from the local deli, and looked over at me with a kind of suggestion in his eyes. I gave him what must have been the Look of Don't You Even THINK It, because he shut up about it and later went himself to check on the menu situation. In the end, the summer associate and the first year from one side had to get sandwiches for everyone, which made me laugh. That's right, bitches! Get me my tuna on wheat! (Except ... that'll totally be me in a year.)
- I returned to the office in a jolly mood and promptly turned down another assignment next week so I could take part in a training session I thought would be more valuable for me.
- Although I was exhausted, I decided to go to a function hosted by Firm #2 of the summer, Magic Circle Firm, which was really very pleasant. It was a cocktail thingee at another bazillion-dollar townhouse on the Upper East Side (just 4 blocks away from the one I went to on Wednesday night, actually), and the summer class at Magic Circle Firm is really small (just 10 people), and the atmosphere was much cozier and friendlier. I met two summers who will be working at the London office the same time I'll be there, and had a couple nice conversations with various lawyers and summers. In comparison, the chocolate tasting the night before seemed impersonal... I really do much better with smaller groups.

Friday:

- Very little work done at work. I mostly figured out my weekend plans.
- Went to a happy hour organized by a summer associate, and met a couple nice people, one of whom is working on the same project I am, but is getting slammed with assignments every day from the associate. He downed three beers at the happy hour and returned to the office. Damn. I felt a momentary twinge of worry/guilt -- am I not doing assignments well? why aren't I getting more work? shouldn't I be working harder? as hard as this guy? -- but the moment passed when I realized that I have absolutely no incentive to work hard, having been reassured on the first day that everyone will get an offer. I decided to go with the incentive structure put in place. When there's no reward for hard work but more hard work, why even?
- I was up late reading an awful book by Michael Crichton in which he basically says global warming doesn't exist. Shut up, Michael Crichton. I was in the mood for a silly medical thriller, and you give me drivel.

Saturday:

- Brunch and church-hopping with Friend. Riverside Church is gorgeous! St. John's looks terrible! And Union Theological Seminary is pretty!
- Attended a gospel choir concert, thanks to an old college classmate, who played in the band. I remembered how much I liked the gospel choir in college, and decided I'd also like to see the old classmate, so I head over to the East Side, to a gospel concert consisting of mostly WASP-y young ladies wearing pastel colors. Huh. Not what I was expecting. But really, what COULD you expect of a Baptist church on the Upper East Side? The proselytizing was kind of intense, and I considered leaving, but saw my old classmate playing in the band, looking all kinds of cute, and decided to stay.

Okay. So here's my question. What constitutes success? I ask because tonight I saw the above-mentioned college classmate, whom I hadn't seen for about seven years. He's been trying to make a living as a bass player in New York since graduation. I'm on his email list for gigs and concerts, and every time I get a message from that listserv, I think, "Damn, that's inspiring. He's still out there, working toward his dream."

He was rushing off to another gig downtown, but had half an hour to eat, so I treated him to pizza, and we caught up. And damn, but the boy's had it hard. Threw his back out last year and was broke enough to qualify for Medicaid. Doesn't talk to his father, who vehemently opposes my classmate's career choice. Lost a girlfriend of 6.5 years because he chose to keep working as a musician.

I was sad after we said goodbye. He's a good guy, through and through. An honest, straightforward man, trying to do something he loves. And he's my classmate. As much as it hurts your ego to learn that the guy who sat next to you in biology won a Tony for his witty, best-selling musical two years ago, you don't really want any of your classmates to be in a position where you feel sorry for them.

I mean, whatever -- I barely talked 30 minutes with the guy, and he's clearly getting some work, and I don't know jack about his successes or the joy he derives from working in music. And as Mr. Rocks pointed out to me on the phone soonafter, "You don't need to worry, hk. The guy's got a degree from an Ivy League school. He can always go to grad school."

But there was genuine delight and gratitude in my classmate's face when he saw I had come to his concert. And a humble acceptance of my offer to treat him to pizza and a drink. He's just a good person, and it makes me sad to think about the difficulties he's had.

So not to get all Carrie Bradshaw on you, but here it is: What is success? Do those of us who "sold out" have a romanticized notion of what it is to follow your heart? You can't eat admiration, after all, or use it for rent. So what's the use of my saying to my classmate, "Your following your dreams is so inspiring to us"? Was that just a clueless kind of condescension? And what does it mean that I walked away feeling a little bit relieved and comforted about the choices I've made?