The extremes of success in modern society…
"The Extremes of Success in Modern Society"
Now more than ever, "success" is positioned in our lives in extreme ways. With a telephone, a laptop, and the worldwide web, we’re told we should’ve built multiple online businesses by age 25, traveling the world as digital nomads with four luxury cars parked at a beachside mansion. The idea that the road to becoming "the next big thing" has shrunk to a fingertip’s reach is an extreme notion that I believe breeds a culture and identity more harmful than good. Don’t get me wrong—hard work is admirable—but this new-age fervor creates a relentless urgency, whispering that time’s running out, that greatness must be seized at all costs, often at the expense of well-being and integrity.
We’re not entirely to blame as a culture; we’re products of our environment. In just 30 years, we’ve leapt from the World Wide Web’s debut on clunky desktops in the 1990s to AI assistants in our palms on a Bali beach. The tools are there, the reach is global—it’s all about harnessing what’s available. Online, you’ll hear it nonstop: if you’re not leveraging these tools to amass wealth or a following, you’re failing, missing out, wasting your now-or-never shot. Your path to success is literally in your hand, they say. But this ideology—this whipping of the success horse and cart—isn’t just ambition; it’s a manufactured urgency that can feel impossible to escape. Success used to be a slow burn—a career built over decades, not days, through 10,000 hours of honing skills, gathering knowledge, and mastering a craft. That idea feels archaic now. We’re human, after all, wired to compare ourselves to others, and with social media dominating our lives, avoiding it is near impossible. Instagram and Facebook overflow with overnight success stories—big sales numbers, Rolls-Royce flexes—the most successful people succeeding all the time. This constant exposure warps self-perception, amplifying the "quick success" myth and driving people to chase extremes.
The consequences of chasing these extreme, rapid successes are stark, especially for young men. A healthy mind and body thrive on balance and purpose—drivers toward meaningful goals. But when the bar is set unattainably high for most, pegged to fame, followers, and wealth, we’re setting the next generation up to fail. Productivity culture sells this hard: wake at 3 a.m., ice bath, half-marathon, emails, business calls—squeeze every second from your 24 hours to grab what everyone else seems to have. This relentless pressure breeds anxiety, burnout, and imposter syndrome. Worse, it’s no coincidence that suicide rates among young men in the U.S. have risen 37% since 1999—from 10.57 to 14.4 per 100,000—tracking the internet’s rise from novelty to omnipresence. For men under 35, the spike is even sharper, with rates climbing 30% since 2010 alone. The internet’s promise of instant success can curdle into despair when reality doesn’t match the hype—likes don’t pay bills, and crypto doesn’t always moon. What’s more, this chase erodes meaning. Are we defined by our crypto wallets or the kindness we show? Our property portfolios or the advice we give? The push for quick success at all costs sidelines human decency, placing it second to the real prize.
This ideology doesn’t just wound individuals—it ripples through society. It’s become a cultural obsession, widening the chasm between haves and have-nots. The entrepreneurial push isn’t inherently bad—it can foster a healthy work ethic toward a passion—but it’s geared to those with resources: time, money, tech. Those without are alienated, deepening the success gap and creating a cultural divide. For the less fortunate, watching from the sidelines can be as crushing as being trapped in the extreme success race itself.
Yet, there’s a flip side worth considering. This drive has sparked real innovation—young entrepreneurs solving problems, building futures. Ambition isn’t the enemy; it’s the warped timeline and narrow definition of success that’s the issue. Hard work paired with patience can still yield wonders, but the frenzy to "make it" by 25 drowns that out. The internet, introduced in the 1990s, promised connection and opportunity—some have seized it brilliantly—but for every success story, countless others feel left behind.
So how do we reimagine success? Psychology offers a clue: true fulfillment comes from intrinsic goals—autonomy, competence, connection—not just external markers like wealth or followers. We need to slow down, value the process over the prize, and celebrate small wins. Society could help by amplifying diverse stories—taxi drivers proud of their families, not just tech moguls flaunting jets. As a 37-year-old student, I’m living this shift, chasing knowledge over flash, purpose over pressure. It’s not about rejecting ambition but grounding it in what lasts.
In the end, this extreme success narrative seduces but wounds, risking more harm than good by trading well-being and integrity for a mirage. What if we measured success not by how fast we climb, but by how well we live? That’s a question worth pondering—because 30 years after the internet’s dawn, it’s clear the tools don’t define us; our choices do.
