The Shifting Horizon
I remember a night about three or four years ago. A college friend and I were leaving a bar after being rejected by some girls who had initially shown interest in us. Everything changed when a couple of Italians on vacation in Mexico showed up. They were older, taller, wealthier, and almost certainly more handsome. In short, they had more status than us—two twenty-year-old computer science students who, just hours earlier, had collected their monthly internship stipend from a small software firm. That money had vanished by the end of the night without us feeling it had been worth it.
It wasn't cause for alarm; the pay didn't even cover the gas to get from campus to the office. What truly bothered us was the way we were brushed off. It wasn't that they were the loves of our lives; it was a matter of ego—the ease with which they left us standing there, mid-dance, to turn their gaze toward them.
To be honest, I hold no grudge against those Italians. It’s understandable. It’s not every day you get hit on by men from across the world. It is natural to gravitate toward presence, status, and stability. We understood it, yet it frustrated us to be on the wrong side of the equation.
Walking in the dark at 3:00 AM, with the faint echo of music in the background, I told my friend: "One day we’ll earn —X amount—, we’ll wear better cologne, look sharper, and then they’ll finally notice us." My friend stayed silent for a few seconds before simply saying:
"You'll see, we’re going to be just fine."
Today, we are both doing better. We both earn more than the amount I mentioned that night. We don't try to pick up girls in bars anymore; when we meet up, we prefer quiet dinners.
"How’s that project you mentioned going?" I ask.
"I signed up for martial arts, we’ll see how it goes," he replies.
You could say we made it. In any other story, this would be the happy ending: we’d return to that bar with better posture, better clothes, and a better car, and those same girls would stop dancing with the Italians to dance with us. But it didn't happen like that. We didn't seek it out; our interests have changed. We have more money, but we also have very different things on our minds.
The Goal
When I mentioned that sum of money back then, I thought it was a lot. I saw it as a finish line. I thought that once I earned it, everything would be easier, happier, and more fun. But without realizing it, I raised the bar. Now that I’ve achieved what I once craved, I want more. What I have is no longer enough. I feel I must push even harder, as if the struggle to get here hadn't been enough already.
I wonder if I will ever truly be satisfied. Do humans have a limit, or are we destined to always seek more? Don't misunderstand me—I am deeply grateful for how much I’ve grown, and not just professionally. Moving forward with projects and discovering different facets of oneself is what makes a person evolve. But that doesn't stop the hunger. I want to grow, to reach further, to see more places, and to dine at better tables.
Healthy ambition is fundamental to our development as a species; it’s what built alliances and empires. But I wonder how happy we can truly be if we never take a moment to enjoy what we’ve achieved. One shouldn't preclude the other, even if it’s difficult to balance. Because if you reach a high level and never acknowledge it, what’s the point? What’s the point of achieving great things if we don't pause to savor them before chasing the next one?
I will go for more. I want more, and I will achieve more. But today, I look back with longing at that summer night and those two friends who were held together by the hope of a better future.
I told you we’d be fine.