“Try not to succeed, but rather to be worth it.” ~Albert Einstein, adaptation
I often feel like I was born into a wrong story.
I grew up in an age where success meant something quiet. My father was a music teacher in a public school. We didn’t have much, but there was dignity in how he carried himself. He believed in doing a good job – not because of recognition or wealth, but because it was important.
That belief shaped me. I became a teacher, filmmaker and musician. And for decades, I followed a similar path: rooted in meaning, not money.
But somewhere along the way, the story changed.
I see people running around me, especially in places like Los Angeles where I lived and worked. Hustling. Branding. Monetization. There’s not enough good things anymore. You have to look. Promotion. scaling. Life itself has become something to go to the market.
And with that shift I felt that something sacred was missing.
A false promise
I’m not against success. I want to pay my bills, support my family and feel worthwhile. But the version of success we were given – the name, visibility, infinite productivity – is a lie. It promises meaning, but often brings emptiness.
We replaced presence with performance. Please be careful when clicking. Optimization and integrity. And what about the outcome? A society where fatigue is normal and insufficient.
Psychologists call it an exogenous motivation. Do something for money or applause or other rewards. That’s not inherently bad. But when it controls our lives, we lose contact with essential motivation. It’s the joy of doing something just because it matters to us.
When everything becomes a transaction, even joy begins to feel like a product.
Rare Games
Sometimes it feels like we’re all scrambled for breadcrumbs. Compete for attention, client, gig, or algorithms. Everyone is trying to survive, do important things that are seen.
It’s primal – it seems like a twisted version of the hunter-gatherer instinct. But where ancient humans balance community and competition, we continued our fight and lost our tribes.
Nowadays, even collaborations often feel strategic. In other words, it’s not a connection, it’s a way to climb. “Networking” replaces friendship. “Partnership” is a performance. We are told to “collaborate.”
That rare thinking doesn’t just shape the way we work. It distorts how we see ourselves. If someone else is thriving, we feel like we are behind. If we don’t notice, we start to doubt our worth.
This is more than just economics. It is mental erosion.
Capitalism and what it forgot
I’ve been thinking about capitalism. Not as a political slogan, but as a cultural narrative. Adam Smith envisioned a market built on freedom and mutual benefit. However, today’s versions often reward contributions, performance of presence, and extraction over individual benefits over shared benefits.
Even education and healthcare (for uplifting) are judged by efficiency, growth and return on investment. I’ve seen schools cut arts programs in the name of data. I saw care become content.
And I felt it in myself. The pressure to prove this value is even when I can’t measure the most meaningful thing I do.
A different way of life
I spent some time filming in a remote indigenous community in the southern Philippines. There, life moves at a different pace. So people didn’t ask how to monetize their purposes. They lived it. I taught storytelling. Planting was prayer. Caring for the elders was not a chore. That was an honor.
No one branded themselves.
But even in these places, that way of life has faded away. Global markets, smartphones and social media have arrived. The younger generation is drawn to modern success. And who can blame them? Visibility promises power. But what is quietly lost is the root of attribution.
And it’s not just them. That’s all of us.
Should we disappear?
Sometimes people say, “If you don’t like rat races, live in a monastery.”
But I don’t want to disappear. I love music, conversation, cities, and education. I want to live in the world, but I won’t retreat from there.
So, here’s the real question: Can we live meaningfully in this world?
We believe we can. In fact, I think we have to.
There are people everywhere who do quiet and important jobs. Teachers who don’t go viral, gardeners who share food, coders who write open source tools, volunteers who show up without posting about it. They’re not trending, but they’re leaning towards something real.
Choose the real thing
There is no formula. I’m still worried about money. I still wonder what I’m doing. But I’m back to this:
I would rather create something honest that reaches 10 people than forge something that reaches 10,000 people.
I would rather exist than refined. I want to be more concerned than competing.
If you are feeling this too, this pain, this fatigue, this quiet sadness is lost – you are not alone.
And you’re not broken. You may be one of those who remember.
I remember what it was like to listen in depth. Give without scoring points. To live from the outside, it is not outside.
Remembering is not weakness. It’s your compass. And even in a monetized world, it still points to your home.
The truth under the lie
Here’s what I’ve learned: Success is a moving target, as taught to define it. You can chase it for decades and still feel empty.
But the meaning – the deep meaning of the actual soul – is something that can be returned at any time. That’s the way we love. How do we show up? How to make others feel? It’s in the work we do when no one is looking.
You may not be able to change the entire system. But we can tell a true story.
If the value is not based on performance. Success is not the finish line. What we belong to – not because we are impressive, but because we are human.
That story is still possible. And it’s worth saying.
About Tony Collins
Tony Collins is a documentary filmmaker, educator and writer whose work explores creativity, caregiving and personal growth. He is the author of: Windows to the Sea. This is a moving collection of essays on love, loss and existence. Creative Scholarship – Guide for Educators and Artists is rethinking how creative work is valued. Tony writes to reflect on the important things and help others feel less lonely.
