Note: another installment!

I finished my beer earlier today watching college football on TV, so I decided to make some green tea instead. I dumped a few spoonful of leaves into my mug and microwaved it for a few minutes. It seems to have worked because it tastes pretty good, although I keep having to spit out some of the leaves. I should get tea that comes in bags next time.

It’s raining outside today, so I’m holding an umbrella and a cigarette with the same hand while holding my mug with the other. It’s gotten a lot cooler lately, so it feels nice to hold this warm cup of tea while watching the rising smoke.

I had a thought earlier today about what it means to be successful. I must have realized this while watching the super athletic football players perform in front of thousands of people in sold out stadiums, their every move scrutinized and every score celebrated with great fanfare. To think that all these guys, no more than 22 or 23 years old, are being worshipped by millions of people around the country, their accomplishments touted endlessly by big-time publications and teleivison announcers – they seemed bigger than life. I was watching Roger Federer playing in the US Open the other day and was reminded many times of how he had achieved such greatness. Only 25 years old, he made me wonder – Gee, what have I accomplished in the 28 years that I’ve been alive?

But does it all matter so much? Would I necessarily want to trade places with him? Or with 21 year-old Lebron James? At least Tiger Woods is 30, so his success is more taken for granted now, although I’m sure millions of people still idolize his skills and riches. And how about outside of sports? The young twentysomethings who’re running successful tech companies, the actors who’re raking in big movie deals, even the young novelists winning prestigious awards? Forget about being young, how about anyone who receives great press, makes a lot of money, and is respected nationally, or even worldwide, for their success?

As much as I admire and sometimes feel envy towards such people, I couldn’t say that I would want to switch places with them. I’ve taken the approach, although sometimes I am forgetful about it, that much of the public’s attitudes towards these superstars is a function of the hype and glamor created by the media. The glossy magazine photographs, the flattering interviews, and the lucrative endorsements – these are as much a part of our admiration as what each person actually accomplishes. In the end, new faces are discovered, new articles are written, and companies need new names to push their products. We all die in the end.

That is why I don’t mind being me. I’m healthy, I’m not yet thirty, and I’m okay with doing my own dishes and taking out my own garbage. Plus, it’s not like these famous people are monopolizing all the pretty girls – there’s plenty to go around. Which leads me to think more about our overall intoxication with fame. Would I like to be interviewed in The New York Times Sunday Magazine? Would I like Dwell to come and do a piece about how wonderfully I’ve arranged my bookstores? Would I like to be stopped on the street to sign a few autographs and answer questions from fawning fans? Sure, but I don’t really need these things to feel happy about myself and what I’ve done with my life so far.

But it’s true – for those of us who haven’t had a taste of celebrity, wealth, or even notoriety, we sometimes dream or, worse, lament about the inequities of life: why not me? I’ve asked this a few times, and I sometimes find myself staying up late at night trying to figure out ways to expand my business, trying to get profiled as a young entrepreneur in Business Week, or wondering why I’m not invited to the more exclusive parties thrown for literary elites. Then again, my bookstores have done well, I’ve gotten to know some pretty accomplished writers, and many people seem to take my advice on several topics, including good books to read.

Growing up, I used to imagine that I would become a super CEO of a media mega-conglomerate, overseeing record labels, magazines, film productions, and publishing houses. Then somewhere along the line, I started to see how being CEO wasn’t the be-all, end-all of success, that they were often held liable by boards of directors and shareholders, and that the idea of running a big business wasn’t as freewheeling and maverick as I dreamt it would be. It’s okay to be a small-time shop owner, it’s okay to only have twenty employees, and it’s perfectly fine to take yellow cabs instead of limos. Some days, I can roll out of bed at 11am, take a walk through Central Park, read the New Yorker from cover to cover, and stop by my stores for an hour or so just to check up on things and make a few decisions. Would I trade such freedoms with a super athelete who has to keep a rigorous training regiment all year round or a high-power ad agency executive who can’t even spend time with his own kids on weekends?

It’s kind of like that half-full, half-empty idea I guess, but the point I’m trying to make is that the very idea of success is probably overrated and overexaggerated. Impressing a lot of people with a particular skill is great and so is making tons of money, but these things come and go, and in the big scheme of things – I may sound a bit cynical here – everything is pretty much meaningless. We’re just a bunch of living organisms enclosed in a bubble eating, pooping, sleeping, copulating, and when not doing these things, trying to keep ourselves occupied. And in our bubble, we decided somewhere along the line that we’re going to celebrate things that some people do, raise them to the status of idols, and perpetuate the idea that some people are great while others are just ordinary. Yes, I wouldn’t mind being an idol, and I would love to use that status to buy more things, sleep with (more) really pretty girls, and read about myself in general news magazines, but like I said, I’m doing alright as it is.

Okay, tea time is over. This stuff gets me hyped up way too much. I’m going to grab a six-pack.