This week, in my gratitude journal, there was a question:

Which two people immediately come to your mind when you think about “successful” people?
Why are they successful to you?
What does success mean to you?

I thought and thought and thought.

I tried to be clever.
I tried to think of big names.
Of impressive stories.
Of people from magazines or headlines.

Nothing really came.

And then, without effort, two faces appeared.

My dad.
And my grandma.

(And before anyone feels left out. Sorry, Mom. Sorry, my sister. Sorry, Tim. Sorry to so many more people I love. My journal very strictly asked for two people, and these were simply the first two names in my brain. I would happily include you all. I am very sorry. Truly. Please do not take this personally. I love you.)

My dad is a driving teacher. Over the years, he built his own driving school carefully, until it became a place where several people work together. I have watched him carry this responsibility for as long as I can remember. Talking to students. Organising schedules. Solving small and big problems. Learning new systems. Adjusting again and again.

What always amazes me is that he never stopped being curious. Not when he was young. Not when he got older. Not even now. New rules. New technologies. New ways of thinking. He keeps learning. He keeps asking questions. He never decides that he is done.

He is still interested in the world.

My grandma is 89.

Every day, she decides to get up from her armchair and go for a walk. To feel the sun. To notice the world. She still cuts out recipes from magazines with scissors. Carefully. One by one. She keeps them in little folders. She experiments with modern things like bulgur. Different vegetables. New combinations. She invents her own cake recipes and adjusts them until they feel right to her. A little lighter. A little more balanced. Her way.

She cares deeply about fairness. About doing things with integrity. About staying kind. About not becoming hard.

She is still curious.

And somehow, that feels like the greatest success I know.

Not money.
Not status.
Not being impressive.

But staying alive inside.

For a long time, I thought success was something external. Something measurable. Something visible.

Achievements. Growth. Recognition. Numbers.

But when I am honest, none of that is what moves me most.

What moves me is this.

Finding a way to go through life without losing curiosity.
Building something on your own terms.
Growing older without abandoning yourself.

Not becoming bitter.
Not becoming numb.
Not shrinking into habits that keep you safe but small.

Staying alive inside.

I think success, to me, is this quiet rebellion.

Choosing to stay interested in the world.
Choosing to learn.
Choosing to try again.
Choosing to rearrange your life when it feels wrong.
Choosing softness in a hard system.
Choosing integrity in confusing times.

It is not loud.

It does not get applauded much.

But it lasts.

Sometimes I imagine myself at 89.

Wrinkled skin. Slow mornings. A cup of tea. A window with light.

Still rearranging a desk.
Still collecting ideas.
Still curious.
Still trying new recipes.
Still believing that sunshine on my skin might be the most precious thing there is.

Still myself.

Not abandoned.

If I am lucky, I will grow into that version.

If I am brave, I will protect her now.

Because maybe success is not about becoming more.

Maybe it is about staying.

Staying open.
Staying kind.
Staying awake.
Staying true.

That is the kind of life I want to build.

And that is what The Muse Papers is about.