WHAT'S SO GREAT ABOUT SUCCESS?

Since setting up an online shop on “etsy” I’ve gone through a rollercoaster of emotions trying to make a go of it.
I’ve beat myself up comparing myself and my number of sales to other sellers who have surpassed my record by astronomical numbers. (Of course I never compare myself to those who don’t do as well as me, do I?)
I’ve also berated myself by not being able to read all the advice available on the site; not participating fully in the social networking sites; not having a scintillating blog; not having professional photography; nor setting up my own website.
I vacillate between thinking I’m the most talented, undiscovered designer of children’s clothing to being sure that everything I make are amateurish which look homemade.
Every time I sit down to sew another garment, which normally I thoroughly enjoy, I feel guilty indulging my selfish pleasures instead of sweating through the required computer duties required for stellar success.
Today I had an epiphany. It came to me as an analogy. If I were a singer and attained fame on “American Idol,” and my life were no longer my own, would I regret ever having pursued the elusive prize of success? Would I wish I could still have my leisure time to myself and enjoy former privacy and freedom of movement?
I really don’t realistically think that having a profitable shop on “etsy” compares with being a rock star but I do know if I got so many orders that I was forced to spend all my time producing merchandise, I’d wish I could go back in time.
After all, I am retired and shouldn’t feel obligated to start a career at this stage in my life. When the joy goes out of the pursuit of success you have already failed. When it becomes a duty and chore, you’ve lost sight of why you entered into it in the first place.
At that point, it’s time to go back to square one and do what you enjoy. If something sells, it’s a nice little bonus. If it doesn’t, beating your breast won’t make it happen.
Life’s too short to become one of the mass of men who lead lives of quiet desperation. Time to go out and smell those roses.