Losing my ambition

When I graduated from high school, my peers voted me Most Likely to Succeed, although they failed to finish the sentence. Succeed at what?

My college classmates supplied the answer I suppose by voting me Most Likely To Alphabetize Her Spice Rack. I am not making this up. This might seem like a mighty (and rapid) fall from grace until you realize that alphabetizing one’s spice rack is the first step to nebulous success.

I hold none of my secrets back, people. You’re welcome.

This might be the time to mention I am a descendent of Alexander Hamilton. Although the musical about him by Lin-Manual Miranda doesn’t address Hamilton’s spice rack specifically, I did come away feeling like we have things in common. We both served in the military. We’re both big nerds who like to express ideas through writing. We both had difficult childhoods that pushed us to make a name for ourselves.

I’ve seen the show twice. I loved both viewings, but I came away with different conclusions about my relationship to my famous ancestor.

The first time, I felt like I hadn’t lived up to my genetic expectations. My writing hasn’t led to the ratification of a national governance model, I’ve never been on the short list for a cabinet position, and so far anyway, I’ve failed to create a new economic system.

I know that sounds ridiculous when you read it, but what about ambition isn’t ridiculous at its core?

In fact, mixed up in all this ancestral shame was my jealousy of Lin-Manuel Miranda, whose play is so stunning, I wondered: why couldn’t I at least write something like that? As if that lowered the bar any.

The second time I watched the show, I paid more attention to how Alexander’s inability to be satisfied led him to make a string of decisions that damaged both his relationships and legacy. His wife Eliza, who Alexander betrays through an affair, pleads with him throughout their marriage to focus on his family and realize that what they have is already enough.

When Alexander dies in a duel, Eliza finds herself deep in debt as a new widow. Now there’s some irony. The former Treasury Secretary who created the modern (and extractive) banking system leaves his wife in debt? Funny that tidbit isn’t in the play (or most of the history books).

The play notes Eliza’s own achievements after her husband’s death. She raises the money to build the Washington Monument, founds a tuition free school so that the children of lower income families could get an education, and establishes New York City’s first private orphanage.

Impressive in its own right, but what I appreciated most was who she was as a person. She works through the grief of losing her firstborn son in a duel. She ultimately forgives Alexander for his infidelity. She maintains strong relationships with her parents, siblings, and children. She is smart, courageous, loyal, and generous.

Then it hit me. I’m as much Eliza’s descendent as I am Alexander’s.

My accomplishments may not warrant a musical, but I’ve succeeded at living a rich and interesting life, alongside a family and group of friends I adore.

I think my ancestors would be proud. If fact, they might even feel a bit jealous.

I still take on challenges, but I’m doing it for me, for the fun of it, or in service of a community I care about, not the historical record.

So maybe my high school classmates knew what they were talking about. Maybe it’s not that they failed to finish the sentence, but that was all that needed to be said. I did it. I’ve succeeded.

To which my college buddies might add, “You bet your anise seed you did.”