It’s not about what we achieve, but who we become in the process.
I don’t mean to sound morbid, but let’s start with a funeral.
You’re there. Black suit, uncomfortable shoes, that faint smell of old books and regret. Someone is reading the eulogy. They list the deceased’s achievements: VP of This, Director of That, closed the Q3 deal, member of the exclusive golf club.
And you sit there, in the squeaky pew, and you think: Is that it? Is the sum of a life—the laughter, the quiet courage, the scars that taught us everything, the love we gave when it was hard—really just a bullet-point list of corporate milestones and acquired assets?
If that’s the final score, we’ve all been playing the wrong game.
We’ve been sold a lie, wrapped in a corner office and tied with a golden parachute. The lie is that the destination is everything. That the peak is the point. But the truth, the gut-wrenching, liberating, terrifying truth, is that the mountain doesn’t give a damn about you planting a flag on its summit.
The mountain’s only job is to make you into the kind of person who could.
Here’s the beautiful irony that’ll make your brain do backflips:
When you stop chasing achievements and start focusing on becoming, you often end up achieving more than you ever imagined. But by then, you don’t give a shit about the achievements because you’ve become someone who knows their worth isn’t tied to external validation.
It’s like trying to fall asleep – the harder you chase it, the more elusive it becomes. But focus on relaxing your body, calming your mind, becoming someone at peace, and sleep finds you.
Same with success. Chase becoming courageous, and opportunities will chase you. Chase becoming wise, and people will seek your counsel. Chase becoming kind, and the world will open doors you didn’t even know existed.
Start becoming. The world is waiting.
Looking for inspiration? Here are a few unsung heroines and heroes from whose book you can take a leaf out of.
Jia Jiang( also known as the Rejection Collector and founder of the concept Rejection Therapy) decided to get rejected 100 times in 100 days. Asked strangers for ridiculous favors. “Can I borrow $100?” “Can I teach a college class?” “Can I plant a flower in your backyard?”
He got rejected. A lot. But something magical happened in the space between ask and no: he stopped being afraid of other people’s opinions. The achievement wasn’t the book deal or the TED talk that followed. It was becoming the kind of person who could ask for anything because he knew his worth wasn’t tied to the answer.
During the 2008 financial crisis, James* lost his job, his house, his sense of self. Started baking bread at 3 AM because insomnia is a ruthless companion. Neighbors smelled the magic, started knocking. Soon he was feeding half his block for free.
Never opened a bakery. Never wrote a cookbook. Never became the next Great British Bake Off star. But he became something more precious: the guy who knew that feeding people feeds your soul in ways that profit margins never will.
Meet Lisa*( Failure Archivist, if you may- and this could be me, you, anyone), who started a museum of her failures. Every rejection letter, every botched presentation, every startup that face-planted. Visitors come expecting a pity party and leave with a masterclass in resilience.
The twist? She’s never had a major commercial success. But she’s become someone who transforms wounds into wisdom, setbacks into stepping stones. That’s not an achievement you can put on a résumé, but it’s the kind of achievement that puts something in your chest that glows.
*The good news is that there is a Lisa and a James in all of us: I don’t mean this as a Spoiler Alert.
If we let it, our culture would want to validate us ONLY if we are successful in the binary sense of the term. Because, ‘apparently ‘ productivity and success are hand in glove. The best way to counter it is to Practice Productive Failing. Pick something you’re terrible at and do it in public. Sing karaoke badly. Try stand-up comedy. Learn to skateboard at 35. Or play the guitar at 55. The goal isn’t to get good (though you might). The goal is to become someone who can suck at something and still show up.
What would you do if you knew no one would ever applaud? That’s your becoming compass. Not what brings recognition, but what brings you alive. That’s where you will discover your 3 AM truth.
Ask people about their failures, their struggles, their moments of doubt. You’ll discover that every interesting person is a collection of beautiful disasters that shaped them into who they are. Become a story collector. No better place to extract inspiration from.
Think of the most inspiring people you know. I’m not talking about the billionaires on magazine covers. I’m talking about the real ones. What do you admire? Their net worth? Or their worth? Their title? Or their tenacity? Their possessions? Or their peace?
The magic doesn’t happen when you cross the finish line. It happens in the daily, gritty, unglamorous grind of becoming.
Let’s ditch the usual examples. No talk of Edison’s lightbulb or JK Rowling’s rejections. Been there, done that, bought the overpriced motivational poster.
Consider instead the Japanese art of Kintsugi. The practice of repairing broken pottery with lacquer dusted with powdered gold, silver, or platinum. The philosophy is breathtaking: breakage and repair are part of an object’s history, not something to disguise. The flaw is not a failure; it is the source of its unique beauty and strength. The achievement is the pristine vase. The becoming is the gold-veined, more resilient, more beautiful masterpiece that emerged from its shattering.
Our life is the same. That startup that failed? That’s not a line item on your failure CV. That’s the gold lacquer filling your cracks, making you more interesting, more empathetic, more strategic. That heartbreak that leveled you? That was you shedding your too-small shell, hiding under a rock for a bit, preparing for a growth spurt your old self couldn’t contain. That period of burnout or depression? That was the forest fire, clearing the deadwood so that something new, something stronger, could take root.
We live in a world where “achievement” is celebrated like it’s oxygen. Promotions, degrees, IPO valuations, follower counts — the dopamine buffet is endless. But here’s the truth no LinkedIn humblebrag will tell you: what you get pales compared to who you become in the process.
Take Ernest Shackleton’s Antarctic expedition. Spoiler alert: he failed. Never made it to the South Pole. But his crew survived two years trapped in ice — because Shackleton became the kind of leader whose grit and humanity turned hopelessness into survival. History doesn’t remember his “failure”; it remembers who he became.
Look at the people you truly admire. If you permit me a bit of audacity, I recommend auditing your heroes. Reverse-engineer their character, not their accomplishments. You don’t want Elon Musk’s bank account; you want his irrational, delusional persistence. You don’t want Brené Brown’s book sales; you want her revolutionary courage to be vulnerable. Go after the trait, not the trophy. The trophy is just a byproduct. Beyoncé: Forget the platinum records. It’s her refusal to quit, her insistence on authenticity, that turned gawkers into believers. She’s living proof you can build an empire rooted in vulnerability. Closer home: Dipa Karmakar. She didn’t win a medal at Rio Olympics. But she attempted the “Produnova” vault — the death-defying move only a handful had even dared. India didn’t get the podium. But it got a new definition of courage.
Chase experiences that change your perspective more than your resume. Achievement is temporary, but character is compounding interest. Seeking the bruises is a worthwhile pursuit. Journal your lowest moments. That’s where alchemy happens, where yesterday’s panic becomes tomorrow’s wisdom.
And for all the beautiful, messy humans that are: This isn’t a call to abandon goals. Goals are fantastic. They give us direction, something to row towards. But stop worshipping the distant shore and start falling in love with the strength of your rowing arms, the calluses on your hands, the way you learn to read the currents, and the camaraderie you build with fellow travelers.
The world adores achievement because it’s easy to count—awards, promotions, likes. But look harder. The rare ones—the truly changed—shine with a light no finish line can buy. So next time you’re gasping for that next milestone, ask: Who am I forging in the fire? Achievement ends. Becoming, thankfully, never does.
Go forth. Don’t just win—transform.