The Unnamed Emptiness of Success

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For years, I lived with this sensation - a quiet hollowness that echoed beneath every achievement.

The truth was simple, though it took me far too long to see it: I wasn't living intentionally.

I was following the path directly in front of me, never lifting my eyes to see where it actually led.

This is the trap of success, especially for the ambitious among us.

We become so intoxicated by forward motion that we forget to ask where we're going.

We convince ourselves it's about doing more, optimizing more, producing more results.

But for what?
What good is making millions if you've forgotten how to enjoy a single dollar of it?

It's like playing a video game you despise just to prove you can beat the high score.

How long can anyone sustain that?

For as long as memory serves, I wanted to be an entrepreneur.

The why remained murky - I enjoyed building, but there was also perhaps a need to prove my worth to the world, or a way to belong.

So I chased it with everything I had.

I started with drop-shipping - selling bracelets in high school because every guru promised it was the fastest path to riches.

This would show everyone I could make it.

But after months of grinding, burnt-out and barely profitable, I was told I was just another person chasing the same saturated dream.

So I pivoted and built an audience instead.

I created content and stood out from the crowd. Finally, I was different.

But then came the jokes. "You're just an influencer”.

People would mock the type of content I made, and it stung more than I wanted to admit.

So I built a real business around the content - hired a team, created systems, generated revenue streams.

Surely this would be enough.

But on walks with startup founders, they'd casually mention how "technology is where real entrepreneurship happens." Content businesses? Those were just... lifestyle companies.

Each achievement became a stepping stone to the next dismissal.

Each summit revealed a higher peak that apparently counted more.

And here's the thing: they weren't entirely wrong.

There was truth in every critique and validity in every comparison.

Maybe drop-shipping was saturated. Maybe content creation was kind of cringe to people. Maybe a service business was easier than building a tech company.

But after years of this endless climbing, something shifted.

I finally asked myself the question that changed everything:

So what?

Not the defensive "so what" of wounded pride.

Not the rebellious "so what" that still desperately cares.

This was different.

This came from somewhere quieter, deeper - a place of genuine curiosity rather than hurt.

So what if it's not a tech company?
So what if they think it's cringe?
So what if there's always a higher mountain?

Because I suddenly saw the game I'd been playing: letting other people's definitions of success dictate my next move.

Arrogance would have said "I'll prove them all wrong." But this wasn't arrogance.

This was quiet clarity.

And clarity asked a different question entirely: What do I really want my life to look like?

There's an old tale of a stonecutter who lived at the foot of a mountain.

Each day, he chipped away at the rock face, dreaming of greatness.

One day, a wealthy merchant passed by, and the stonecutter wished to be a merchant.

His wish was granted.

But as a merchant, he saw the powerful governor and wished to be the governor instead.

This too was granted.

As governor, he envied the sun's power.

So he became the sun.

But then clouds blocked him, so he became a cloud.

The wind pushed him around, so he became the wind.

But what stopped the wind? The mountain.

So he became the mountain - strong, unmovable, eternal.

Then one day, he felt a sharp pain at his base.

Looking down, he saw a stonecutter, slowly chipping away at him.

The stonecutter had climbed every mountain except the one that mattered - understanding who he already was.

I had been that stonecutter, constantly becoming something else, never recognizing the value of what I already held.

The hollow feeling wasn't from lack of achievement - it was from achieving things that belonged to other people's dreams.

After much reflection, I realized I wanted to climb the right mountain - to pursue what I genuinely wanted rather than what others expected of me.

This required sacrifice.

It meant releasing others' opinions, and doing so from a place of love rather than resentment.

That was perhaps the hardest part.

Then came the work of clarity - understanding what I actually wanted from my life.

As they say:

Now, before any decision, I ask: Does this align with the life I want to live?

Each "no" is really a "yes" to something deeper:

And each "yes" to something deeper is freedom:

That's what real wealth looks like.

This path is difficult, especially at the beginning.

You don't truly know what you want until you've tried things.

But with each intentional step, the way becomes clearer.

And here's the beautiful thing: real opportunities still come your way. The kind that make your soul sing rather than just your ego shout.

They might take longer to arrive - patience becomes part of the practice.

But the journey is long anyway.

Why not savor each step rather than sprint toward a finish line you never chose?

And that, I believe, is the key to a wonderful life.

Because in the end, what good is reaching the summit only to realize you've climbed the wrong mountain?