Summary: Last year I received a request from a women’s conference to deliver an essay based on the theme of success. At first I wasn’t sure how much I had to say on the topic. Then it took me a minute to register that I was being viewed as successful in the eyes of the women who approached me. I said 'Yes,' I wrung my hands, mulled it over, and Phoenix Rising is the result. Whenever I sit down to write I inevitably find myself scanning the room for inspiration. With my hands poised directly above my keyboard, I cock my head to one side and stare into the void of my office (which, to civilian eyes, is my kitchen table). Sometimes, I peer into the dusty corners, looking for lines I might have tossed aside in a fit of creative excess. Other times, I perform a mental sweep along the baseboards, scavenging for misplaced phrases that would give my material wings. I’m a writer, and this is my waiting game of choice: looking and listening for the faintest break in the stillness, pining for that magical moment when the literal and figurative walls break down and talk to me if for nothing else that to lead me out of my creative fog long enough to set me on dry ground again. Unfortunately for me, this method isn’t without its flaws. For starters, inspiration rarely comes when called, and outright brilliance turns up with even less frequency. The good news, though, is this: whether my elusive muse shows up or not, I never stop writing. And I have the Phoenix to thank for that. Celebrated among cultures from Asia to the Americas as a symbol of redemption and second chances, longsuffering and determination, the Phoenix has come to define the very notion of success for me. So has the Sankofa bird. Less widely known than the Phoenix, the Sankofa bird is popular figure in West African traditions and is shown flying forward while looking back. This depiction reminds us, in addition to the timeless message of the phoenix, that we cannot truly move forward without first learning from the past. Once I settled into doing this essay—and to first stare at the walls—it was the vibrantly colored painting of this mythical bird that immediately captured my attention. I’d always been drawn to its rich colors and bold strokes; I admired at once the confidence and power in it. But, it wasn’t until I’d lived with the piece for quite some time that I realized the significance of the painted bird’s gaze: it was looking over its shoulder. And the flames that seemed to be licking at its tail feathers were propelling it upward with the intensity of a rocket being launched. As I lingered on this image I realized that not only was this mythical bird anything but a static fairytale or pawn drummed up by long-ago tribes of so-called primitive people from various spots around the globe, I knew this creature was real. I mean, she lived. Who else but a determined resilient, determined female could harness her supernatural resources to repeatedly transcend the stifling limitations placed on her by a short-sighted culture? Who but a female—a woman with a mission in mind—could bear the heat of having to reinvent herself every time her life demanded it? And, none other than a seriously focused woman could fly boldly toward her goal while taking into full account all of the flops and victories and close calls of the past. Little did I know how much this brilliant work of art and this notion of success had to teach me. I’ve learned 2 things about success: Success is relative. And; Success has everything to do with failure. As an artist, friend, teacher, student, sister, daughter, speaker, seeker and businesswoman, I know that in each role I play, success looks very different. I count being willing to be vulnerable in my close relationships—and having enough courage to ask for what I really need—as major success, given the fact that I wasn’t born into a family that won any prizes for modeling healthy relationships.
