It’s all about allowing yourself to enjoy life, no matter the circumstances. And none of that means it isn’t worth it to work our butts off for our passions, but just not to hang happiness on it.

Sitting on my deck, I waved off a mosquito and continued staring at my phone.

That little “Go Live” button was taunting me.

You can’t put your face out there.

You can’t say the words.

You have something in your teeth. (And I did, so that was good to know.)

I arrived on the deck with my phone in the light of the evening, telling the boys I was going to sit outside for a while, which might as well have been talking to a wall since they barely looked up from the video game they were playing. They will be contemplating a missing person report once they get hungry or can’t find their socks.

(SHE IS GONE! WHERE IS SHE????)

There I was. Just sitting on the deck determined to do something that totally scares me. This is why I never considered continuing my journalism degree for broadcast — because my face isn’t really meant for public viewing.

It’s okay. I am not calling myself ugly. But my face is definitely not something that gets better the longer you look at it. I’ve done it, and there’s nothing like staring into your own eyes that makes you flee the bathroom in bloody terror.

So, this whole Facebook live is kind of terrifying to me. But I read a lot of how-to articles about writing, and believe it or not, to make it as a writer these days it’s apparently necessary to share my face with the world. Getting published requires a good social media following before you get to sign your name on the dotted line as an author.

And all the writers I know who are succeeding and getting those book deals are also putting themselves in people’s news feeds.

So in the evening light, on what I thought was an exceptionally good hair day, I decided to face my fear —literally with my face.

And I stared at that little button until almost dark until I clicked off and decided to do it another day.

Going onto social media, a picture of Kate Spade popped up. She was the well-known designer of bags I can’t afford. A few days ago, she committed suicide, and everyone is left to question why. Of course it’s not really most of our business, but everyone always wonders how someone who seems to have it all can fall into a desperate place.

Kind of like Robin Williams, in the raw moment that he ended his life, he unintentionally became one of the faces of suicide. Now Kate Spade is likely to be the same. Headlines have already analyzed her marriage, her career, and everything else in her life.

I don’t know anything about Kate Spade, and to speculate on her or any aspect of her life would be irresponsible, but reading the many articles about her successful career made me think.

Success isn’t just one thing. It’s the culmination of a life well lived. It’s being brave enough to fight for happiness when it’s being pulled down by a million things. Or learning to swim in those sinking moments.

That’s success.

Fame. Money. Having a face for television. Getting a book deal. None of those are really what makes a life good.

It’s all about allowing yourself to enjoy life, no matter the circumstances. And none of that means it isn’t worth it to work our butts off for our passions, but just not to hang happiness on it. I think that relieves a lot of pressure.

So, I grabbed my phone and pushed the Facebook Live button.

I talked about about life and how much it scares me to put myself out there. I thanked people for supporting my writing. Shoot, I even talked about the fact that I was having a good hair day. My face, the real thing, was out there for speculation.

All in about 24 seconds, and before anyone actually saw it — I clicked end.

I sat for exactly two minutes refreshing my screen to see if anyone liked it, and then — just like that — I deleted it. Because I don’t want to live like that.

And you know, it wasn’t as good of a hair day as I thought.