I used to think success had an expiry date. That if I didn’t ‘make it’ by 30, I would somehow fade into irrelevance.
I wasn’t alone. Everyone around me was running too—because that’s what we had been taught. The better your academic results, the more pressure to achieve. The milestones were laid out for us: top schools, top jobs, rapid promotions, visible success.
And it felt urgent. Like life had a window, and if you didn’t climb through it in time, you’d be stuck on the wrong side forever.
You knew they’d still be here in ten, twenty years, doing work that mattered—long after the sprinters had burned out.
But now, looking back, I see things differently. The people who made the deepest impact on me—the ones who earned my lasting respect—were not the young executives in tailored suits, climbing incredible trajectories, riding high on early wins. Strangely enough, they were the ones who seemed… unambitious.
Not mediocre. Not passive. Just—not in a hurry.
They weren’t fixated on the next title, the next jump. They cared more about understanding how things actually worked. Not just in business decks, but in the real world. They knew the back doors, the right calls to make, the places where the system had slack.
And somehow, in the way they carried themselves, you knew they’d still be here in ten years, doing work that mattered—long after the sprinters had burned out. Or jumped ship when a crisis erupted.
From what I have observed, these long-haul people share three things in common. Not a motto, not a philosophy—just a way of being.
First, they chase Mastery. They are not in a rush to be seen. They take their time to truly understand their work, their industry, their skills. They can do what others only talk about in meetings.
They aim for Balance. They are not grinding just for the sake of it. They know how to manage their energy, priorities, and the much debated work-life balance.
And they have a great Perspective. They have nothing to prove and nothing to hide. They work with a kind of quiet confidence, even humour—the kind that comes from knowing your stuff as good as anyone else, if not better.
I consider myself greatly lucky that many of them became close friends. And they taught me things beyond work, things that have stayed with me. Because the way people work is the way they live.
Some people sprint ahead, and I say let them. But there are others who choose to walk with intention. Because in the end, it’s not who got there first—it’s who still has something worth saying when they do.
