In the heart of an era obsessed with followers, promotions, and fleeting achievements, a truth burns brighter than the sun: human greatness does not lie in what we accumulate, but in what we give.
While social media turn lives into trophies on display, ancient philosophers and forgotten poets whisper a warning through the centuries: “Your value is not an algorithm.” It is an act of courage, a daily choice to love even when the world rewards selfishness.
Modern societies, built on productivity metrics and endless growth, have forged a toxic myth: the individual as a machine to be optimised. Yet, within this narrative a tragic paradox emerges. Those who climb the mountain of success often discover, once at the summit, that they have forgotten why they set out. As the poet Tagore wrote in a private letter in 1912: “Profit is a phantom that dissolves in the hands; only the gift leaves footprints on the soul.” Acts of generosity activate the brain’s joy centres more than any economic transaction.
What does it mean in practice to replace the cult of success with an ethic of inner growth? It is not about rejecting ambition or goals, but about redefining them through a radical lens. An anonymous entrepreneur from Milan confessed: “For years I lived as if my worth were my turnover. Then, watching my daughter laugh at a soap‑bubble, I realised no chart could ever capture that sound.” Simplicity—often mistaken for triviality—is the key to decoding the enigma of existence.
The Upanishads, ancient Indian scriptures, speak of neti neti—“not this, not that”—to describe the human essence as something immeasurable, beyond any material definition. That ancient principle resonates today in existential psychology, which views identity not as a résumé but as a mosaic of choices, wounds, and acts of love. Even the concept of failure, demonised by performance culture, must be revisited. As Japanese writer Haruki Murakami observes: “Sometimes what we call an error is merely a side road toward a larger truth.”
The real scandal, however, is not our dependence on success, but its uselessness in the face of fundamental questions. During the pandemic, a Harvard study found that 68 % of intensive‑care patients surveyed expressed a single regret: “I didn’t love more deeply.” Numbers tear the veil of illusion: while we chase recognition, we neglect the only capital that never depreciates—relationships.
Chile’s artist Alejandra Basualto turned this awareness into a silent revolution. After winning the prestigious Premio Nacional de Arte in 2019, she abandoned galleries to paint murals in Santiago’s outskirts. “Success is a golden prison,” she told an interviewer. “Real art is born when you stop counting likes and start counting smiles.”
The paradox is that this “weakness”—prioritising love over competition—might be our evolutionary salvation. Anthropologist Margaret Mead, studying isolated tribes, discovered that the most resilient communities were those that valued cooperation. The principle now echoes in the circular‑economy movement and environmental activism: survival means caring, not dominating.
Embracing this vision requires a daily act of rebellion:
- Choose to listen to a friend instead of checking notifications.
- Opt for a park walk rather than an extra hour of work.
- Laugh at your own mistake instead of cursing imperfection.
These tiny gestures, accumulated over time, erode the ideology of toxic productivity.
Finally, as a 15th‑century manuscript uncovered in a Tibetan monastery advises, “Life is not a problem to be solved but a mystery to be embraced.” The truly revolutionary act is to pause, to breathe, and to remember that our legacy will not be a bank balance but the warmth we have shared.
Because love, at its core, is not merely an emotion—it is a verb, an art to be practised, the only success that never sets.
Happy New Year to my “twenty‑five readers,” as Manzoni would say.
— Robert
