When people talk about success, the words that usually come up are predictable: money, power, influence, status. Shiny stuff. The kind of things that get you applause in rooms full of people who don’t actually know you. And for a while, I nodded along. That’s what we were told, right? Work hard, climb the ladder, get the title, the house, the lifestyle. But here’s the uncomfortable truth I had to stare down: you can check all the boxes and still feel completely hollow.
There’s this subtle ache that creeps in when you do everything “right” and still can’t shake the feeling that something’s missing. Like you’re living next door to your own life. I’ve felt it. I’ve watched friends feel it. And I’m convinced it comes from buying into a version of success that strips away the very thing that makes us human—connection.
The paradox is wild. We chase success to feel seen, safe, and valuable. But the pursuit often isolates us, pulls us away from the people and places that give us those very things. That steady drift away from community isn’t just inconvenient—it’s dangerous. We’re social creatures trying to thrive in a system designed to reward independence and individualism. That’s like asking a tree to grow without soil.
Every time I’ve felt a deep sense of purpose, it wasn’t during a solo victory. It was in those quiet, unglamorous moments where I showed up for someone. Or when someone showed up for me. Conversations that spilled past midnight. Helping someone move even though I had a million excuses not to. Sharing food. Sharing grief. Laughing about things that don’t make sense on paper but matter deeply to the heart.
Fulfillment doesn’t come from being the best in the room. It comes from feeling like you belong in the room. It’s rooted in being useful, not just successful. And that usefulness isn’t measured in accolades—it’s measured in how you show up for others.
We’ve been sold this polished, filtered version of a “dream life” that’s oddly sterile. It’s success with no fingerprints on it. No chaos. No shared meals or messy kids or spontaneous conversations that reroute your whole day. But those are the things that fill you up. Those are the things that stick.
If you feel like you’re running but never arriving, maybe it’s not because you’re not running fast enough. Maybe you’re headed in the wrong direction.
What if success wasn’t about how high you climb, but how deeply you’re rooted?
What if we stopped measuring progress in promotions and started counting it in the number of people who’d show up for us on a random Tuesday?
Maybe it’s not that we need to reinvent success. Maybe we just need to remember what it actually means. Before the noise. Before the branding. Before the performance.
Maybe the real flex isn’t making it to the top. Maybe it’s never losing your people along the way.
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