A Reflection at 63 on What Success Really Looks Like

When I think back on my school days, one thing stands out clearly: I wasn’t anyone’s idea of a rising star. I wasn’t the valedictorian. I wasn’t student council president. I wasn’t the kid collecting awards or planning my Ivy League future. I was the one who sat at the edges, the one who didn’t quite play by the rules. In the eyes of most, I was a black sheep—too restless, too irreverent, too “off-script” for anyone to seriously think I’d go far.

And yet, I did. Very far, in fact.

At 63, I’ve built a good life—a life that’s mine, shaped by my own choices, carried by resilience, creativity, and no small amount of stubbornness. I succeeded not in spite of being the black sheep, but partly because of it.

But here's the thing that makes the story more interesting: I wasn’t failing because I couldn’t keep up. A few people—some sharp classmates, a couple good teachers—noticed what many didn’t: I was actually quite smart. I just wasn’t interested. I was bored. School didn’t challenge me; it constrained me. I wasn’t wired to sit still, nod politely, and memorize facts for a test. I wanted to understand how things worked, not just how they were supposed to work on paper. I wanted to question, to tinker, to build, to wander.

What People Miss About the Black Sheep

There’s a myth that the “black sheep” is someone who doesn’t have it. But often, the truth is the opposite. Sometimes the black sheep is the person who sees things differently. Who feels the weight of conformity and resists it. Who can’t pretend to care about rules that don’t make sense. Who wants meaning, not medals.

That was me. I had a brain that lit up when something truly grabbed me—but the curriculum didn’t. So I drifted. I disrupted. I frustrated more than a few teachers. But I was never stupid, and the ones who paid attention knew that. A few teachers quietly said it. A few friends noticed it, too. That gave me just enough oxygen to keep believing in myself, even when the system didn’t.

The Long View: Watching Life Unfold

As time went on, I watched those “top students” head out with big plans. And to be fair, some did just fine. But many didn’t. Some burned out in college. Some floundered in adulthood. Some got stuck in careers they didn’t love, chasing titles that didn’t fulfill them. Some were great at playing the game—until life stopped handing out instructions.

And meanwhile, people like me? We learned by living. We failed early and got used to picking ourselves back up. We took risks, made odd choices, followed winding paths. And slowly, almost quietly, many of us built lives we could be proud of. Solid, meaningful, sometimes unconventional lives. We might not have had the applause early on—but we had the last word.

The Real Definition of Success

Looking back, I don’t think success has much to do with talent alone. I’ve seen brilliant people waste their potential and average folks rise to amazing heights. What matters is something deeper: persistence, adaptability, integrity, vision. The ability to keep going when the map runs out.

Success is building a life that fits who you are—not who you were told to be. It’s about showing up for your people, doing work that matters to you, and finding peace in your own skin. It’s about the long haul, not the early lead.

And for me, it’s about proving—quietly, steadily, without a need to shout—that the black sheep had more to offer than anyone realized.

A Note to the Bored, Brilliant, and Unseen

If you were the student no one could quite figure out—bored but bright, restless but aware—this is for you.

You’re not broken. You’re just wired differently. Don’t let anyone convince you that your value is tied to how well you fit inside a system that wasn’t made for you.

Some of the most interesting, successful, deeply alive people I know were the black sheep. The misunderstood. The ones with heads full of ideas and no outlet. The ones who looked lazy but were just unconvinced by the small goals set in front of them.

Stay curious. Stay real. Stay stubborn. Your time comes later—but when it does, it’s yours.

In the End

I’m 63 now, and here’s what I know for sure: the ones who truly “make it” in life aren’t always the ones people expect. And they’re almost never the ones who peaked in high school.

I may not have looked like a success story back then. But I built a life filled with real work, real love, and real satisfaction. I built it outside the spotlight, without permission, and against most people’s expectations.

And that, to me, is the best kind of success there is.