Eat a Slice of Humble Pie

When I look back on my life, I’ve made countless mistakes, some more costly than others. One theme I’ve noticed is that in my younger years—my 20s and early 30s—I let my ego grow a little too large. This is a note to my younger self, and a few things I wish I’d understood sooner.

I grew up in the 90s when computers and the Internet were on the cusp of upending every aspect of life. Because I taught myself to code at a young age, people thought I was some kind of computer savant (which I hardly am). In reality, I was just a socially awkward kid with few friends who took to computers as a way to entertain myself, stimulate my mind, and perhaps find human connection through the Internet.

During those formative years, people constantly told me I was special, simply because I had some basic computer skills. To them, what I could do seemed like magic. I had spent countless hours reading and tinkering online. It was persistence more than brilliance. After years of having my ego inflated, I began to believe I really was exceptional, and it wasn’t until my 30s that I recognized I was primarily lucky, not particularly brilliant.

To be fair, I did work hard and make things happen, but my success had less to do with extraordinary abilities and more to do with timing—being a young, tech-curious person growing up alongside the Internet. These days when I read stories about “genius,” I’m skeptical. Having been called a “genius” many times myself, I’ve learned there’s rarely such a thing as pure genius—only people with opportunities, persistence, and sometimes outsized egos.

For some people, initial success creates a wave they can ride indefinitely. In my interactions with various “successful” individuals, I’ve found most are quite ordinary once you look past their public persona. The stories of their success are often more dramatic than the reality of how they achieved it. And “success,” typically defined as some combination of money and fame, doesn’t necessarily reflect exceptional talent or character.

Some people do possess remarkable talents or skills, but society doesn’t consistently reward these gifts. Countless talented artists, scientists, researchers, and thinkers struggle to make a living pursuing their passions. History is filled with brilliant individuals who lived difficult lives and received little recognition during their lifetime. Often, the most successful creative people are those who had financial security from other sources—family wealth or unrelated business ventures—that allowed them to freely pursue their interests without financial pressure.

I learned this one later than I should have: stay humble. It’s easy to forget how quickly circumstances can change while things are going well. If I could advise my younger self, I’d tell him to notice how good he already had it instead of constantly measuring himself against people who seemed more successful. In retrospect, I was doing quite well, even when it didn’t feel that way. And I’ve learned that beyond meeting basic needs, additional wealth or recognition rarely increases happiness significantly.

There’s a balance between healthy ambition and contentment. I wish I had spent less time obsessing over the next milestone and more time appreciating that my needs were met and my life was already pretty good. That shift settled me down in a way chasing money or recognition never did.