Made for the Infinite
How do you define success?
Podcasts explore it. Experts debate it. My friends and I often fall into circuitous discussions, trying to untangle a word that has so many of us chasing mirages that move as soon as we get close.
This Defining Success series aims to explore what success means to us. Each installment will highlight a woman who has come to define success in a unique way, thanks to her experiences in faith, work, and life.
My own experience with chasing success goes back as far as I can remember. I’m the oldest of four children, the only girl, a performer, and an achiever. As a kid, I knew exactly what I needed to do to attain success: work hard, do it all, keep it together, and make others proud. TLDR; I love gold stars.
To be fair, I wasn’t motivated solely by gold stars. I genuinely loved performing in shows, serving on student council, and studying hard. But as I grew up, I heard people around me praise me for my success. As a words-of-affirmation person, that feedback became addictive. The bar for success started to rise. It was less clear how to earn those gold stars—I had to go farther, move faster, and be better in order to keep up. The measure of my success rested in what others said and thought about me.
It wasn’t until years later that I started to notice this paradox: the more I chased success and the more I achieved it, the less it fulfilled me. Even in moments of success, I felt let down. It was fleeting and fickle. Yet I fooled myself into thinking that the next gold star would be the one that fulfilled me—then the next, and the next—falling into a cycle that held me captive for most of my life.
The truth is this: we are created to desire the infinite, so worldly success will never truly satisfy.
No matter how hard we try, chasing success can’t fill the deepest longings of our hearts. The only one who can fill that longing is God.
Of course, we live in a culture that makes this truth hard to grasp. It glorifies success and striving and #bossbabes. It offers likes, trophies, and honors—for a soul-crushing, life-sacrificing, competitive, and frankly exhausting price. And we can’t just take it anymore.
My own journey with success played out most publicly through six years of competing in pageants. Yes, like Miss Congeniality. They were surprisingly intensive and strategic. I trained 3–4 hours a day—practicing my talent, working out, preparing paperwork, running interview questions, and organizing wardrobe. I worked with coaches. It was my sport. And in my mind, there was no more visible success than having a crown placed on my head in front of a cheering crowd. This, I believed, would be the ultimate fulfillment.
For years, I lost and lost and lost. Then in 2019, I got very close. Standing hand-in-hand with the eventual winner, I felt the Holy Spirit say, “You didn’t win, but it’s okay. I am here.” A moment later, I was named 1st Runner-Up. I was proud. I was happy for the winner.
But then the messages started. People left voicemails and sent Facebook comments offering critiques and suggestions. It was overwhelming. Because I had defined success through the eyes of others, their comments made me feel small and unworthy. A disappointment turned to devastation.
A few weeks later, I competed in the National Sweetheart Pageant, which brings together top finalists from Miss America state pageants. I went in thinking, “Why not?”—I’d already done the prep. I met incredible, accomplished, hilarious, beautiful women. After not placing in preliminaries, I figured I was out. But the next night, by the grace of God, I was named to the top 10, then top 5, and then won the title.
After five years of sacrifice and effort—I had won. I expected to feel elated and fulfilled. Instead, as the crown was placed on my head, my first thought was, “Wow, so many girls wanted this—I feel bad there’s only one title.”
Yes, I was honored. But it wasn’t the overwhelming joy I expected. I thought winning would let me finally rest. And it did—because I knew I needed to re-examine my desire for success. In prayer, the Lord spoke clearly:
“Jane, worldly success cannot fulfill your desire for the infinite, which is what you are created for.”
In prayer, Jesus and I walked through my life—through the peaks and valleys. And He revealed something else:
Success is not about what we do, but about who we are.
Looking back on those years, I saw how the journey shaped me: I became more resilient, courageous, thoughtful, confident, and strong. I earned scholarships that paid off my student loans. I made friendships I still treasure. And I learned how to do full hair and makeup in seven minutes (which is a skill).
That’s success. Even when I didn’t win.
It’s who we become along the way that matters most—not the outcome.
Instead of measuring success by external achievements, I wrote a mission statement to keep me aligned with the woman I want to become:
Live a courageous life
Strive for excellence, not perfection
Be grateful and generous
Bear fruit that will abide
This is how I measure success. Am I living courageously? Am I striving for excellence while being kind to myself? Am I present in my relationships? Am I building the kingdom?
I encourage you to define success for yourself. Ask:
What matters most to me?
How can I measure my engagement?
What makes me proud?
What qualities and virtues am I developing?
How am I taking care of my relationships?
Once you’re clear on your mission, you’ll know how to measure your success.
Who you are matters more than what you do.
And I’m rooting for your success—especially the kind that leads to deep, lasting joy.