Success Is Counted Sweetest

Growing up, my brothers and I were always held to a higher standard than the average kid our age. My mom raised us to be hardworking and strong leaders with opinions of our own. We worked for what we wanted, and never let anyone get in our way. So being success-oriented my whole life has left me to wonder: What is success? And why do so many people have different views on it? Views on success vary depending on how one was raised, what ones morals are, and what goals people set for themselves in life. In Emily Dickinson's poem “Success is counted sweetest,” Dickinson writes of success and how it is appreciated most by those who never succeed, given the example of the soldier dying to the sound of his opposers celebrating in the distance:

Success

It was the year I tryout for the high school varsity, something I have worked hard for since the start of my volleyball career in 7th grade. Although my experiences playing volleyball have had its ups and its downs (mostly its downs), the only thing I cared about was if I made the team. Despite me having a tough club team and not seeing much of the court, I spent that whole summer trying to recuperate from the damage that season had cost me. August flew by and before I knew it the time for tryouts had come. Those 3 days were vigorous and I was working my hardest every minute to get the coaches attention. When tryouts had come to a close all the girls had gathered in the main gym to hear their fate. One by one, each girl made their way to the other gym were Nat, the varsity coach, was waiting to discuss each individual's future on the team. The group of girls were slowly dwindling and I felt my stomach sink deeper and deeper, at this point I was preparing myself for the worst. Then I heard my name called in the distance, anxiously I made my way to the door into the second gym. When I see Nat, the varsity coach, and my previous freshman and JV coach sitting along her side. As I go to sit, I give them the most forced smile trying to hide the feeling of anxiety in my stomach. Cheerful she tells me I made the team, I let out a huge sigh of relief as the anxiety in my stomach is lifted. Nat reluctantly goes on to inform me that although I made the team, most likely I will not see the court this year. Nevertheless I left the gym happy that day knowing my hard work had payed off. Now it was time for my next goal, getting play time. Every day I went to practice, worked hard, and did what I was told. Then about 6 games into the season we were at Meadowdale high school warming up for the game. Unexpectedly, Nat approached me close before the game and informed me that I was playing. Ecstatic, I didn’t know what to say,