Personal Growth

When most people talk about success, they’re usually referring to the accumulation of money, power, or material possessions. A bigger house, a fancier car, an advanced degree from a prestigious university, a high-paying job with an impressive title. Maybe you’re so successful that you’ve retired from your day job and now you spend your time doing high-profile non-profit work, partly to impress your friends.

I have a deep appreciation for mastery. It takes an extraordinary amount of time and effort to become truly masterful at something. It doesn’t matter so much what that thing is, whether it’s a sport, a musical instrument, a language–spoken, written, or programming computers. The path to mastery is the same: it demands time, practice, sweat, tears, trials, tribulations, and a whole lot of hard work.

I was recently banned from Rover, a specialized craigslist website for finding pet sitters and dog walkers. They didn’t specify why exactly, though I know the walker claimed my dog bit her. I find this claim suspicious since my dogs have never bitten anyone before, certainly not hard enough to break skin, and her story contained several inconsistencies.

The year is 2025. I’m turning 40 soon, sitting in a cramped 450-square-foot apartment with thin walls, $50,000 in credit card debt, and a credit score of 646. My financial worth: $100 in liquid assets. My net worth: deeply negative. Five years ago, I was worth over $7 million. This isn’t a story about market crashes or economic downturns. This is a story about human fallibility—specifically, mine. If you’re looking for a cautionary tale about greed, overconfidence, and the psychological pitfalls of sudden wealth, welcome. I’ve lived it all so you don’t have to.

Reflecting on the landscape of my past mistakes, I’ve noticed a consistent pattern: moments when my ego seized the controls and steered me off course. The abstract concept of “staying humble” sounds straightforward until we’re faced with real-world situations that challenge our self-image. Only when something valuable slips away do we fully grasp what humility might have preserved.

Although I have written about this idea before, I feel like it’s one worth elaborating on. We live in an age of instant gratification, which I think leaves us often feeling underwhelmed. In most cases, this disappointment is due to our expectations being too high. There is, of course, a simple solution to this problem: lower your expectations. On the surface you might think “but why should I lower my standards?”, and I’ll try to make the case for why you should.

We are all artists, in one sense or another. Our society, unfortunately, does little to cultivate this innate creativity beyond the occasional obligatory art class in school. I dabble in creative pursuits myself, though I don’t identify as particularly talented or skilled in making art. Yet I still create, because the act itself brings its own rewards.

“High hopes, low expectations” has become something of a personal mantra for me. I could probably build an entire comedy routine around this concept. Many people navigate through life perpetually disappointed for one simple reason: their expectations tower far above reality. Whether in relationships, careers, or personal endeavors, they set themselves up for endless disappointment by expecting perfection in an imperfect world.

Personal growth requires honest assessment of our blind spots, biases, and behavioral patterns that might be holding us back. In my many conversations with strangers, I’ve recently made a conscious effort to listen more and speak less. This seemingly simple shift has proven remarkably powerful for understanding others and, somewhat surprisingly, myself. People reveal extraordinary depths when given adequate space and your attentive silence. Strategic questions help navigate the conversation, but what truly matters is creating space for others to express themselves—and most people will naturally fill conversational gaps if you allow them.

Rejection delivers a particular kind of sting that transcends context and circumstance. Whether or not it becomes easier to handle with age and experience remains an open question—the anticipation of rejection rarely prepares us for its emotional impact when it actually occurs. I’ve developed a certain expertise in rejection through abundant experience. I’ve been rejected by educational institutions, potential employers, friends, family members, and romantic partners. I’ve faced rejection from people I’ve deeply admired and respected, people I’ve loved and trusted, and even complete strangers.