Years ago, during a conversation I had while hosting a dinner, I shared with my guests that the best memories of my life are attached to my childhood in my mother’s village. My answer seemed to surprise my guests, particularly one who felt sorry for my then-husband that I didn’t mention a memory like our wedding day.

I thought about it for a while. What was so particular about that period that surpassed some pivotal moments of my life?

My mother’s village is a micro village lost in the middle of the forest in the center of Cameroon. Growing up, we used to spend every summer holidays there. There is no built road, no water facilities, no electricity, no schools, no hospitals. The village is surrounded by nature. The houses are built with mud. We went to the fields every morning to sow and harvest products from the land. Then we will carry wood for fire on our back, water on our heads. We helped my grandfather harvest the cocoa, dry their beans and prepare them for sale.

At that time, it never occurred to me that my grandparents were poor because the experience felt rich, abundant and expansive. In the evening, we will share the meal together as a family; we will sing and dance with tam-tam in front of a wood fire. My grandfather would tell us stories or make us laugh with his attempt to speak proper French. I woke up to a singing bird as my morning alarm; I was running free, unaware of time. We made and ate fresh food. We played with other kids and ran naked in the rain.

Whenever someone asked me about the best memories of my life, these instantly popped into my mind. Now I know that it is because these are « feeling memories »; memories so deeply ingrained in me and connected to strong positive emotions that there are instantly available in my brain.

So, what is it that I was feeling? I felt calm and at peace. I felt loved and cared for by my grandparents. Surrounded by nature, water, play, wandering, awe, laughter, community, and traditions, I felt like myself; I felt like I belonged and was free to be myself at the same time.

« We think the grass is greener on the other sides. »

Then things changed. I remember that, at some point, it felt less fun to be in my mother’s village. I would visit my grandparents, and in a matter of a week, I could picture exactly what their life would be like for the rest of it: repetitive tasks, the same environment, the same everything. Imagining living a life like this made me want to kill myself. I wanted to travel the world. I was dreaming of novelty experiences. A life like those of my grandparents suddenly felt constrictive. But lately, I have found myself thinking a lot about my childhood. I wonder what I was looking for, what I thought I would find elsewhere.

I just returned from a trip to Normandy, and it seems something has shifted since then. I reconnected to the same feelings I felt in my childhood. I felt in awe of nature; I felt free; I felt the need to wander; I felt connected to greater than me. I felt calm, happy and at peace.

I woke up every morning to a walk to the sea and singing birds. I woke up saying « bonjour » to the neighbours. People were smiling when they saw me. I went to the artisan baker and butcher next door. We had the time to visit friends and spend time with families.

It is occurring to me that maybe my grandparents got it right. Perhaps, they knew that a rich life is about being present, having the time to be in the presence of and caring about the people, the things that matter the most. Or it may be that I am just getting old.

There is a voice in my head becoming louder and clearer. I fantasize about a calmer, slower and more peaceful life in a village—one where I can be fully present. I wonder when I did buy into this ideal of life that is about running after success and recognition as a means to happiness.

When did I start confusing impact with celebrity and success with public recognition? All this time, I have been chasing an ideal that was never mine to begin with. I failed to relax and operated like I had something to prove to the world.

« Define success on your own terms, achieve it by your own rules, and build a life you’re proud to live. » ― Anne Sweeney

When did I start to think that the world needed to be saved? It seems like what people need the most is to reconnect with themselves and the environment around them. The world may not be saved by people’s actions but rather by people returning to themselves. That may be each individual living a full, rich, meaningful and authentic life is precisely what the world needs. That someone living a life of integrity, and values, is a significant enough contribution to the world.

It is time to redefine what success and happiness mean to each of us: live your life on your own terms and not fall for the mainstream narrative.

For me, success looks like inspiring people to be their authentic selves, less performative actions, connecting with people, having meaningful conversations being a vessel for loving, authentic and meaningful connections, inspiring people to approach alterity with empathy, developing self-awareness and welcoming other people’s perspectives.

To me, happiness looks like a life of abundance, rich with meaningful, loving, and reciprocal connections that feel nourishing; Happiness looks like a slower life, having the time to create, learn, read and write; being able to eat food from my own garden. Take the time for a walk, take a deep breath, admire the sea, and the face of your children, spend time with loved ones, share things and moments that matter to you and find community. That is happiness and success to me. It sounds so simple, doesn’t it?

It never occurred to me that, from that perspective, there has been already significant happiness in my life. That with this awareness, I could create even more of it.

Sometimes, our idea of happiness may be blurred when we chase the wrong ideal.

With love always,

R-D