When I was a small child, success meant capturing a full jar of fireflies, watching their pulsing flashes, and setting them free—to chase another night. I was good at catching fireflies.

When I was a teen, success meant making good grades and getting into a top university. I measured my success by my grades and the approval I received from my parents and teachers.

When I was in my twenties, success meant putting myself through under-graduate and graduate school, in spite of the fact that my family had abandoned me. I measured my success by my GPA.

When I was in my thirties, success meant exceeding all of the lofty career goals I’d set for myself; and then wondering what to do next, and why I still was not happy. I started to measure my success by my quality of life.

After my children were born, success meant nurturing them, encouraging them, mentoring them; running my husband’s business for him and keeping our family together, even though my marriage was rapidly deteriorating. I measured my success by the number of balls I could juggle simultaneously.

When I became an author in my forties, success meant selling another article and another book, pleasing a New York editor, and improving my writing skills with each project. I measured my success by my writing achievements and independent income, which I saw as a path toward my eventual freedom and happiness.

When I started writing for corporations, success meant marketing new skills, pleasing customers and increasing my income, year-after-year; so I could become self-supporting and my children and I could gain independence from our dysfunctional lifestyle. I measured my success by billable hours and net profit.

When I was fifty, and earning more than enough to be free of the barren union from which I was unable to detach, "success" was empty: my marriage was dead, my son had dropped out of tenth grade, and I was desperate. Emotionally drained, I reached out for professional help. It was then that I realized that "success" was not just fixing my son and husband, it was: understanding the source of my pain, deepening my friendships, sharing my inadequacies and family secrets, building my self esteem, healing the damage from my past, and adopting new beliefs and a way of living which would help me achieve the happiness I need and deserve.

I measured my success day-by-day as I confronted those who had done me wrong; took control of my life and my environment; took care of myself with exercise, diet, and grooming; became a better parent to my children; managed my agreed-to divorce; and continued to work hard on my emotional recovery.

When Denis came into my life, I learned to dream and chase fireflies again—to laugh, play, love, and stop taking life so seriously. Success meant loving and caring for one another unconditionally, being real and vulnerable, and enjoying each day and moment to its fullest. Success meant coming home from work to a big bear hug, kissing in the aisles at Home Depot, and giggles ringing through the house day and night. Success meant dancing to big band music in our fishing boat while the full moon rose over the lake and crickets sang. Success was celebrating life with someone I loved and who loved me.

Now that he's left this world, success means caring for and loving the child within me; building healthier and happier relationships with my son, daughter, and friends; writing; becoming a better Bridge player; and dreaming once more about my future—finding a soul mate: a partner, playmate and lover. I measure my success by how I feel about myself and about life.

But, where have all the fireflies gone?

Update: 2001-2002

What a wonderful two years this has been!

It all began New Year’s Eve 2001 when I wrote a thank you note to Mike Jirka in Omaha NE. That evening I read his profile on an online dating service and giggled all the way through it. So, I thanked him for lifting my spirits that evening and wished him luck in finding someone closer to Omaha (425 miles from Tulsa). To my surprise, he responded to my note and we began corresponding. Soon we were talking over the Internet by voice and playing Bridge on MS Gaming Zone.

To make a long story short, after 7 months of visiting online and by phone, we met in early August in Omaha and had a wonderful four days. Unfortunately, we would have to wait to see each other again, as I’d planned a two month business trip to the Netherlands.