Why being miserable is not the same thing as being successful

I'm not sure whether we're taught to believe it, or it's inherent in this (Swarthmore or otherwise American) culture, but we tend to associate miserableness with success. Being successful means constantly being stressed out and unhappy because being successful means doing lots of things and working hard to do them well without allowing ourselves pleasure.
If you're not running around like a chicken with its head cut off, then you're not doing things right. Success necessitates busyness.
In this vicious culture, we inherently devalue happiness— enjoyment produces guilt. Though we can certainly find value and pleasure in work (and that's a good thing), we have done so by thinking that enjoying life outside of productivity is antithetical to productivity itself.
It took me a while to figure out, but being successful cannot possibly exclude happiness. Being successful cannot possibly be confused for being perpetually miserable.  Being successful cannot possibly be doing so much that to feel "good" we need to feel bad.
Success, in fact, means accomplishing things in a way that allows enjoyment both of these accomplishments and of all of life's other little treasures and moments that we often confuse for inconsequential.

Running round

As of late, my life can be accurately described by the way I feel when I run.

I have had shin splints for a while now. When I run, my mind tells me to go far. My body tells me to go farther... When I start, I feel like I can run an hour, two hours. A few minutes in I feel good, I want to go faster, longer. But sooner than I want them to, my shins slow me down, pull me back. A crutch. I so desperately want to keep running, but it hurts. I eventually have to stop, even when most of my parts don't want me to.

Like running, doing work has become a similar struggle. I want to sit down, concentrate and be productive for three or four hours. Hell, I want to sit down and use one hour of time productively. But as soon as I start, there is a feeling that tugs at me — distracts me, slows me, stops me.

The problem is that while I can ice my shins, I haven't yet found a way to ice this feeling away.

"Love is an act of courage, not of fear" - Paulo Freire

Missing Cuba

As I begin my last year at Swarthmore, I can't help but think about my semester abroad. I can't help but miss it.
As happy as I am to be back, surrounded with so many intellectually curious and kind people, Cubans have a way of enjoying life that is hard to find elsewhere – especially at Swarthmore, where everyone is always stressing out about their ever-increasing important studies and lives.

It's hard to be so happy and find so much enjoyment in what is sometimes so little. But they do it.

I wonder whether I can too.