🏃‍♂️ The Race I Never Signed Up For

When someone else’s success makes your coffee go cold

One Tuesday morning, I opened LinkedIn against my better judgment.

There it was: a friend’s promotion. New title. Bigger salary. Dozens of applause emojis raining down in the comments.

My coffee sat untouched. Same graduation year. Same starting point. But he was already there.

I was still here.

And the word echoing in my head wasn’t congratulations.
It was should.

I should already be there.

That one word is toxic. It turns ambition into shame.

Where Should Comes From

We don’t design most of our goals. We inherit them.

Goals spread like gossip—quietly, invisibly, relentlessly.

From people we admire, we borrow ceilings → what we think is possible.
From people close to us, we borrow clocks → when we think we should arrive.

And it’s the clocks that crush us.

A peer’s win doesn’t just inspire. It resets our internal schedule. Suddenly, we’re not just moving slowly—we’re late.

Thick Goals vs. Thin Goals

Not all goals are worth running after.

Thick goals → enduring, value-rooted, energizing. They survive applause or silence.
Thin goals → fragile, recognition-dependent, borrowed. They glitter, then fade.

The test:

👉 Would I still want this if no one could ever know I achieved it?

That single question cuts through the noise like a scalpel.

⚖️ Thick vs Thin Goals

Thick Goals	Thin Goals
Rooted in values, long horizon	Peer-triggered, short-lived
Energizing to pursue	Draining, hollow
Recognition optional	Recognition required
Stable across contexts	Vanishes when audience shifts

The Scoreboard Trap

Every environment hands us a scoreboard:

School → grades
Work → salaries, titles
Social → likes, followers

Scoreboards aren’t bad. They help measure.

But they also blind.

The cruelest outcome isn’t losing.
It’s winning a game that doesn’t matter.

I’ve collected thin victories before—metrics, milestones, recognition.
They felt good for five minutes.
Then empty. Like salt water: looks refreshing, only makes you thirstier.

Why Comparison Isn’t Always the Villain

You can’t quit comparison. Neither can I.

And maybe we shouldn’t.

Comparison is ancient. It taught us what was safe to eat, which paths to walk. Even now, it can expand what we believe is possible.

The danger isn’t comparison itself.
The danger is blind comparison.

What’s Worked for Me

✨ Prune inputs. Mute people who reset your clock without teaching you anything. It’s not hostility—it’s mental hygiene.

✨ Audit fulfillment. Each week, note what gave you energy even without recognition. That’s where thick goals live.

✨ Reframe envy. When someone else’s win stings, ask: Is this a deep desire I’ve neglected, or a thin one I never really wanted?

If it’s thick → let it fuel you.
If it’s thin → let it die.

🔄 Figure: The Flywheel of Comparison

Selective Comparison → Action → Progress → Fulfillment
          ↑                                ↓
          └───────────── Momentum ─────────┘

Comparison can be a leash. Or it can be ignition. The difference is choosing the right mirrors.

🛠 3 Steps to Reset Your Race

Write down 5 goals → Circle the ones you’d still chase if nobody knew.
Mute 5 inputs → Protect your mental clock.
Guard 90 minutes daily → Work on a thick goal.

Don’t just manage time. Guard your track.

The Real Takeaway

You don’t feel behind because you’re slow.
You feel behind because you’re running on borrowed clocks.

The finish line matters less than whether you chose the race in the first place.

Because the cruelest kind of success isn’t losing.
It’s standing on a podium, medal in hand—
only to realize it doesn’t fit.

💡 Your turn:

What’s one goal you’d still want if nobody could ever know you achieved it?

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