There was a time when “keeping up with the Joneses” meant glancing over the fence at a neighbor’s new car or a freshly manicured lawn. Today, the Joneses live in our phones, in our feeds, in our curated, algorithm-driven perception of the world. The comparison game has gone digital, and with it, so has our sense of satisfaction. More followers, more vacations, more success. And yet, ironically, as we accumulate more, we often feel like we have less—less time, less connection, less contentment.
Somewhere along the way, ambition became an identity. Work stopped being just a means of making a living and turned into something else—a measuring stick, a scoreboard, a proof of worth. The long hours, the missed weekends, the emails answered at midnight—all of it woven into a story we tell ourselves about what success looks like.
We hear it everywhere. Hustle harder. Outwork the competition. Sleep when you’re dead. We wear exhaustion like a badge of honor, as if the busier we are, the more valuable we must be. And yet, as The Wall Street Journal recently reported, a generational shift is underway. Younger professionals are questioning whether any of this is sustainable. They’re drawing lines and setting boundaries. But even as we preach work-life balance, the pressure to achieve at all costs hasn’t disappeared. “More” is no longer just a goal—it’s an expectation.
But what does this constant pursuit actually cost us? Financially, it means debt—Americans owe more than ever before, with credit card balances at record highs. Mentally, it means anxiety, depression, and a gnawing sense that we are never enough.
The Guardian recently explored how burnout has led to the rise of “micro-retirements,” where younger generations are taking extended breaks from work just to recover. It’s a stark contrast to the old American Dream, where retirement was the reward after decades of grinding. Now, the grind itself is proving unsustainable.
And for some, the need for more—more success, more validation, more escape—becomes a gateway to addiction. Whether it’s substances, social media, shopping, or work itself, the dopamine-driven cycle of chasing often blinds us to what we’ve already caught.
For years, I played along. Chased goals, checked boxes, hit milestones. But with every achievement, something strange happened. Instead of feeling a sense of arrival, I felt… nothing.
That confusion grew. Why wasn’t I satisfied? Why did the next goal, the next promotion, the next accolade, feel just as empty as the last? I had built my life around work, poured everything into it. And yet, it wasn’t pouring anything back.
By the time I realized it, I was deep in an identity crisis. Work had stopped being fulfilling, but without it—without the chase—I wasn’t sure who I was. So I did what so many do. I found ways to escape that discomfort. And that escape, for me, came in a bottle.
I am not alone in this. Addiction, in many ways, is the manifestation of a culture that is addicted to more. And recovery, in turn, is learning the radical act of being okay with enough.
So, how do we step off the treadmill? It starts with awareness. Recognizing that the system is designed to keep us feeling like we’re falling behind. Understanding that satisfaction isn’t a byproduct of achievement but a practice of appreciation.
Maybe we need to redefine success—not as an endless climb, but as a place where we can pause, breathe, and take in the view.
In the end, maybe enough isn’t something we find at the top. Maybe it’s something we learn to recognize right where we are.
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