Success seems to come more easily to some people.
These are the same people who effortlessly wear La Perla lingerie while sprawled out on their bed of money, rolling around in the freshly-pressed dollars and sipping on a dry martini, extra olives.
The same people who somehow don’t seem like total elitist assholes when they order that extra shot of espresso in their 14-word morning cup of coffee.
The same perfect people who give to an impressive charity likely involving tiny homeless puggle puppies, genuinely enjoy green smoothies with extra green, never complain about their feet after a 12-hour day in 5-inch stilettos, and still have tender yet raucous sexcapades with their equally successful and TOGETHER significant other.
Anyone else break into a cold sweat at the sheer monumental terror at the thought? (Someone pass me a towel.)
There’s an effortlessness to their success.
It seems to roll through ‘em like a strong tide, teasing out all their best bits and leaving their minimal flaws in the limelight. Their email lists boom organically. Their products rake in heaping piles of cash. And their white linen pants–as always–stay pristine & perfect. (Though to be fair, the last bit probably has a fair amount to do with the fact that they probably never eat drippy hamburgers with one hand while careening perilously down the freeway with the windows all the way down and the music all the way up.)
But the only difference between that shiny fucking unicorn of a human being and you? Is that they’re capitalizing on that sugary sweet spot where what they’re good at and what they’re completely obsessed with intersect. (Line graph not included.)
Because if you’re not good at something, your business will suffer. And if you don’t love something, you’ll suffer, too. But when the two collide, potential pours out of every pore, and before you know it, your life will be stuffed with the good stuff.
The bottom line?
Don’t try to jam a square peg into a round butthole.
If you’re good at numbers but hate math, don’t go into government finance. (Trust me–I’ve done it.) If you love cake decorating but can’t make anything that doesn’t look like a piping hot pile of baby vomit after a carton of strained peas, it’s probably not the best time to open a bakery. If you’re good at writing but hate being on camera, don’t force yourself to make weekly videos, no matter how en vogue they are.
Trying to cram yourself into a tight little mold that doesn’t fit is best described by Cinderella. There she is, in all her flaxen-haired glory, slipping her dainty foot into the dainty slipper and running daintily down the marble steps to her dainty effing future. Daintily.
And then there’s the step sister, trying like hell to wedge her flat, fat, sweating foot, (complete with one large wart on the bottom of her big toe), into the delicate balance of glass and glitter. Eventually, the splendid shoe splinters, shattering under the sheer force of being forced where it doesn’t belong.