So far, in my entire life, I've never experienced a more surreal moment than hearing my mother talk about how successful Pauly D from "Jersey Shore" is.
"He's got a good gig going."
Gig? Did my mother just use the word gig? Had she somehow turned into a 1930's Hollywood agent without me noticing? And was she really gush about "Jersey Shore?" What many would consider to be the televised downfall of culture and civilization as we know it?
When I asked her about it, she said--
"Well, he's getting paid, isn't he?"
My mother comes from a time when success was all about money. It wasn't just the time, but the circumstances. Most of my family grew up poor, so if somehow you managed to become a millionaire, nobody cared how you did it.
You were a success.
When I was growing up, I remember thinking that success was attention. Fame. Usually, if you were famous, it also meant you were rich, so I could have my mother's version of success and my own, provided I could figure out a way to score my own Nickelodeon sitcom.
(Kevin's Wacky Life? Broccoli and the Bobcat? KBroc Explains It All?)
Now, it seems like the definition of success has once again shifted.
It's now possible to have lots of attention for a very short amount of time and benefit from it and no way whatsoever.
I'm thinking of viral videos and the people who star in them. One-off reality tv stars, like the second girl kicked off The Bachelor on any given season. There's also my least favorite phrase in the history of the Universe: "Local celebrity." Because, let's face it, in a state as small as Rhode Island, is being a "local celebrity" really all that difficult?
Nowadays, people have also figured out that a good chunk of success is perception. In other words, fake it and you'll make it, or look like you've made it, which is essentially the same thing. Crown yourself a star, and believe it or not, a decent amount of people will believe you.
And so what does it mean to be a success?
I've started to believe that success is about impact. How much of an impression do you really make on the world around you? Are you a part of a community? Are you a creator? Do you, in some way, contribute?
Sorry if I'm starting to sound like a self-help guru, but my ten year high school reunion is coming up, so I've had to start practicing my "Here's What I've Done With My Life" speech.
No, I'm not famous. I'm not even a little famous. That seems like some sort of odd confession, but you'd be amazed how many people I know might actually have trouble admitting that. But that's okay. Who's to say what's famous anymore anyway? (Okay, I guess George Clooney could be a pretty good authority.) But who's to say all fame is good?
I'm not famous, but I'm....Well, I guess I'm proactive. I do a lot. I create. I try to contribute something. It's hard to do that when you're an actor, because most of what you do is so ethereal. You perform, people enjoy it, and in five years, if you're lucky, maybe they remembered how well you did. As a writer, it's a little bit more concrete. You put stuff out there and it's there forever. You create a body of work. You have proof that you've done something.
More than anything, I go back to that word "community." I'd like to think I'm part of a community, and that means a great deal to me. Many people, especially writers, achieve success in a bubble. In isolation. They sit in some back room somewhere and pour out a novel. It's occasionally a lonely situation.
I've been able to see my work performed over and over again, and I've developed relationships with a lot of great actors, directors, and artists. It may never lead to a million dollars or a sitcom or an Oscar or a viral video or me having my torch be put out by Jeff Probst, but it's something I can feel proud of when I tell people why I feel like I'm a success, or at least a work-in-progress.
Like my mom would say, it's a pretty good gig.
"He's got a good gig going."
Gig? Did my mother just use the word gig? Had she somehow turned into a 1930's Hollywood agent without me noticing? And was she really gush about "Jersey Shore?" What many would consider to be the televised downfall of culture and civilization as we know it?
When I asked her about it, she said--
"Well, he's getting paid, isn't he?"
My mother comes from a time when success was all about money. It wasn't just the time, but the circumstances. Most of my family grew up poor, so if somehow you managed to become a millionaire, nobody cared how you did it.
You were a success.
When I was growing up, I remember thinking that success was attention. Fame. Usually, if you were famous, it also meant you were rich, so I could have my mother's version of success and my own, provided I could figure out a way to score my own Nickelodeon sitcom.
(Kevin's Wacky Life? Broccoli and the Bobcat? KBroc Explains It All?)
Now, it seems like the definition of success has once again shifted.
It's now possible to have lots of attention for a very short amount of time and benefit from it and no way whatsoever.
I'm thinking of viral videos and the people who star in them. One-off reality tv stars, like the second girl kicked off The Bachelor on any given season. There's also my least favorite phrase in the history of the Universe: "Local celebrity." Because, let's face it, in a state as small as Rhode Island, is being a "local celebrity" really all that difficult?
Nowadays, people have also figured out that a good chunk of success is perception. In other words, fake it and you'll make it, or look like you've made it, which is essentially the same thing. Crown yourself a star, and believe it or not, a decent amount of people will believe you.
And so what does it mean to be a success?
I've started to believe that success is about impact. How much of an impression do you really make on the world around you? Are you a part of a community? Are you a creator? Do you, in some way, contribute?
Sorry if I'm starting to sound like a self-help guru, but my ten year high school reunion is coming up, so I've had to start practicing my "Here's What I've Done With My Life" speech.
No, I'm not famous. I'm not even a little famous. That seems like some sort of odd confession, but you'd be amazed how many people I know might actually have trouble admitting that. But that's okay. Who's to say what's famous anymore anyway? (Okay, I guess George Clooney could be a pretty good authority.) But who's to say all fame is good?
I'm not famous, but I'm....Well, I guess I'm proactive. I do a lot. I create. I try to contribute something. It's hard to do that when you're an actor, because most of what you do is so ethereal. You perform, people enjoy it, and in five years, if you're lucky, maybe they remembered how well you did. As a writer, it's a little bit more concrete. You put stuff out there and it's there forever. You create a body of work. You have proof that you've done something.
More than anything, I go back to that word "community." I'd like to think I'm part of a community, and that means a great deal to me. Many people, especially writers, achieve success in a bubble. In isolation. They sit in some back room somewhere and pour out a novel. It's occasionally a lonely situation.
I've been able to see my work performed over and over again, and I've developed relationships with a lot of great actors, directors, and artists. It may never lead to a million dollars or a sitcom or an Oscar or a viral video or me having my torch be put out by Jeff Probst, but it's something I can feel proud of when I tell people why I feel like I'm a success, or at least a work-in-progress.
Like my mom would say, it's a pretty good gig.
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