Stuart
Dobbins holds countless respectable titles. He has been ranked among the
Fortune 500, featured on the cover of Forbes Magazine, and probably owns more
cars than can be found in a small country. The irony of Stuart Dobbins,
however, is that his story is referred to as the “success story of a failure”
by most people who know him. I have always been curious about this because while
he admits to his humble origin, he has never told the full story. This is the
story that he recounted to me when I interviewed him at a recent conference.
“What comes to mind when I think
of the word ‘success?’ That is quite the story, Miss Spearman. Honestly, I was
never meant to be great, and I am still far from greatness. I never led an
impoverished existence; I never went hungry for anything more than adventure.
In my safe, warm home, I lived with my parents who cordially tolerated one
another. The walls were covered with sepia-tone photos of our family of three,
and my life was a giant white canvas. That bare whiteness resembled my inner
space…”
“Inner space, Mr. Dobbins?” I interrupted,
unaware of his meaning.
“Oh yes, hmmm. I suppose you
could call ‘inner space’ the playground for the mind and heart. I apologize for
the lack of clarity. All I had ever wanted was color in my life, so I pursued
art. Passion, emotion, and depth were what I loved so much about art and those
who created it. This love likely stemmed from my previous lack of all three. I
adored painting, and that I had the power to create. Whiteness became filled
with life and color at my command. My paintings gave voice to imaginings to
which I could never ascribe words.”
“I did not know you were an
artist, Mr. Dobbins,” I exclaimed, intrigued. He chuckled, and glanced upwards
for a moment as if deciding what to say next. The bright, white lights hung
from the expo-center ceiling, and created a colorless ambiance. He continued,
“It is
common knowledge that artists rarely make a living from their art. I believe
this is only fair, since it would be, in a sense, like selling one’s soul to
the highest bidder. Far from home as a young man, I spent countless nights on
friends’ couches and I often went weeks without doing anything. When I could
not afford art materials, I would sit around and bemoan my inability to express
myself. The unfairness of my perceived plight would overwhelm me, and I was
hard pressed to see the beauty of my own existence. Those years exemplify what
I now consider seasons of immense failure. I failed as an artist not because I
was un-talented or lacked passion and desire, but because I made my art for
myself only. Anything I could have offered to the world’s life-giving stockpile
of beauty was handed over already devoid of value.”
He paused as
his words echoed off of the metal walls, and he seemed pensive as he recounted
the story. I prompted him, saying, “What happened next, sir?”
“Well, I
eventually decided I did not like being a ‘poor, starving artist,’ and pursued
a career in business. My creativity was now filtered into a new project birthed
from my selfishness; sales. Passion and desire are useful for more than just
painting, but often come in handy in convincing people living in colorless
worlds that a ‘want’ is a ‘dire need.’ I was an excellent salesman from the
beginning. Plastic grins and empty charisma oozed out of my being because I
knew what I wanted. At least, I thought I knew. After several years of dazzling
material success, I felt little-acquainted with my old self. The “artist
Stuart” was long gone, and he had been replaced with “overpaid, reckless
Stuart.” Having piles of cash was a new sensation for me, so naturally I did
not know how to handle the situation responsibly. I spent money almost as
quickly as I earned it on frivolities. Eventually, the day came when I began
bouncing checks and having my credit card declined. I was being suckered out of
the money I had swindled. Rejection swiftly replaced acceptance. The friends
with whom I had previously painted the town scurried away like cockroaches
fleeing stomping boots. This time my failure was immediately evident to me, and
having experienced gain, I resented friendly-couch homes more than ever. I
envied “artist Stuart” for his naïveté. I was mistaken about one thing,
though.”
“What is
that?” I encouraged.
“I had not
failed because my money was gone. I had failed because I had continued to
worship myself. I ‘progressed’ from satiating my inner longings through art to
spending money in a prodigal manner. My loneliness and emptiness were
overwhelming. The final blow came about a month after my money ran out. During
my time in sales, I had engaged in some illegal activities regarding the handling
of money. You have heard whispers of my money scandal, have you not?”
“I must
confess I have, sir,” I admitted.
“Well, now
you will know the whole truth of the matter. I broke the law to increase my own
wealth, and when I was at my weakest point my retribution came. I was sued for
$500,000.00 by my company’s partner for lying on my sales records. I lost my
job, I spent the next year in and out of court, and I was left destitute. My
parents would not let me come home, I had no friends, and I was living on the
streets. It was then that realized that it was my fault that I was a failure,
and only then did I begin to learn what true success was. Winston Churchill
said, ‘Success consists of moving from one failure to another with no loss of
enthusiasm.' I find it ironic that the definition of success is
meaningless without failure. Success, Miss Spearman, is rooted in humility. One
who thinks only of himself will never truly be successful because no matter
what he owns or how much money he has, his life will be one of insatiable
yearning and selfishness. Many judge my success by how many dollars are in my
bank account, but I am successful because my heart is full. I have finally
created something beautiful for the benefit of others, and I in turn have
benefitted. Well, it has been a pleasure, ma’am.”
He smiled,
shook my hand and walked away.
Note to readers: This is a definition essay I wrote for my super fun writing class. I hope you enjoy it! Also, can you figure out why it is titled "Parabola?" Please put your guesses in the comment section (on Facebook or Blogspot).
