You sit in your three million dollar mansion with the Christian Louboutin shoes on your feet to which you have long grown accustomed. You reminisce on your first pair and how you ignored the aching of your feet in order for people to know that you can afford the searing color underneath. They are real this time, not like the knock-offs you bought in the flea market when you were twenty one. As you admire your shoes the buzz from your Dom Perignon begins to wear off and you look around to notice for the first time an increasingly pressing fact: you are alone. It is a Friday night. Where are your friends? Where is your family? Where is your lover? You begin to wonder if your friends still resent you for using them as the rungs of your ladder to the top. Why did your family not invite you to your mother's birthday dinner? Why has Royce not called you back since you asked for that prenup? Whatever. You do not need them. You have all you will ever need sitting around you--the maid will brush the dust off.

To coincide with the somber mood, you dig out the list of life goals you made in high school. Number one: Graduate from law school. "Check," you think to yourself. Number two: Buy a pair of red bottom shoes. You look at your feet and smile. Number three: Have a family. Your transient happiness has now made a U-turn--you had forgotten about that one. Number four: Be successful. For the first fleeting moment you pepped up as you thought, "Three out of four is not bad. As for the family I still have plenty of time on my biological clock."

Tick. Tock. You do not even have a husband yet. Tick. Tock. Kids are a hassle anyway, right? Tick. Tock. I have three goals accomplished already; do i really want a family weighing me down? Tick. Tock. I have everything I ever wanted. Tick. I am successful. Tock. Wait. Ti--is this really what success feels like? Suddenly you remember Miss Eva who you see at the supermarket every Sunday. She barely has enough to buy bread, but she always radiates joy. Occasionally she gives away the loaf she can barely afford to the man sitting outside with all of his possessions tied to a bike, but yet she is happier than you. You try to think of the last time you bought an extra meal for someone who lusts after yours--you cannot. Is that it? Success cannot possibly mean wealth because you have that, but all you do is soak in your own misery. Maybe success is simply happiness: wherever you find it. You thought you would find this happiness in things you can count, but that has proved to be a failure. Maybe you should try charity or invite Miss Eva over for dinner. You could use a kind friend. Maybe you will find happiness tomorrow, but for now you just take another swig of your drink.