#1 ·
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the invisible audience we carry around with us everywhere we go. It’s that mental image of the person we most want to impress—the parent, the mentor, the old friend from a life we left behind—and how much of our internal drive is actually fueled by their hypothetical gaze.
We like to tell ourselves that we are self-motivated, that our goals are purely personal, and that we chase excellence for the sake of the craft or the love of the game. But if we’re being honest, there’s often a second, much deeper engine running under the hood. It’s the desire to bridge a gap. It’s that feeling that if we just hit one more milestone, or reach one specific peak, we might finally earn a nod of approval from someone who has been absent, or distant, or simply unable to witness our journey.
I remember back in my early twenties, I was working myself to the bone trying to climb a specific corporate ladder. On paper, I wanted the salary and the title. But in my gut, I realized I was really just trying to prove something to my old high school coach. He was the one who first told me I had "potential," and even though we hadn't spoken in years, I felt like every promotion was a message sent into the void, hoping he’d somehow catch the signal and finally say, "Yeah, you actually did it." It’s an exhausting way to live, honestly. It turns every achievement into a transaction rather than a celebration.
There is something incredibly beautiful about a moment of reconciliation or presence, though. When the person who has been a shadow in your life finally steps into the light to see what you’ve built, it feels like a cosmic alignment. It’s like the universe is finally acknowledging the struggle. But it also raises a question about the cost of that validation. Do we perform for them, or do we perform for ourselves? And if the "witnessing" only happens at the very end, after all the sweat and tears have already been spent, was the motivation misplaced?
I think about how much pressure that puts on a person. If you are striving to make someone proud, you aren't just fighting your own limitations; you're fighting the weight of their expectations and the history of their absence. It makes the victory feel twice as heavy. You win the prize, but you’re also trying to settle an old debt of recognition.
I’ve started trying to practice "internalizing" my wins lately. It’s hard. When something great happens, the first instinct is to reach for the phone, to tell the person who "should" have been there. When they aren't, the victory can feel strangely hollow, like a meal eaten alone in a crowded room. I’m trying to learn how to be my own witness, to look in the mirror and realize that the gold—metaphorical or otherwise—belongs to me, regardless of who is sitting in the stands.
But I wonder if we can ever truly decouple our successes from our relationships. Is it even possible to be a purely "self-driven" human being, or are we all just a collection of reactions to the people who shaped us?
Does anyone else find that their biggest milestones are driven by a need to prove something to someone from their past? Or have you reached a point where you can celebrate your wins without needing an audience?
We like to tell ourselves that we are self-motivated, that our goals are purely personal, and that we chase excellence for the sake of the craft or the love of the game. But if we’re being honest, there’s often a second, much deeper engine running under the hood. It’s the desire to bridge a gap. It’s that feeling that if we just hit one more milestone, or reach one specific peak, we might finally earn a nod of approval from someone who has been absent, or distant, or simply unable to witness our journey.
I remember back in my early twenties, I was working myself to the bone trying to climb a specific corporate ladder. On paper, I wanted the salary and the title. But in my gut, I realized I was really just trying to prove something to my old high school coach. He was the one who first told me I had "potential," and even though we hadn't spoken in years, I felt like every promotion was a message sent into the void, hoping he’d somehow catch the signal and finally say, "Yeah, you actually did it." It’s an exhausting way to live, honestly. It turns every achievement into a transaction rather than a celebration.
There is something incredibly beautiful about a moment of reconciliation or presence, though. When the person who has been a shadow in your life finally steps into the light to see what you’ve built, it feels like a cosmic alignment. It’s like the universe is finally acknowledging the struggle. But it also raises a question about the cost of that validation. Do we perform for them, or do we perform for ourselves? And if the "witnessing" only happens at the very end, after all the sweat and tears have already been spent, was the motivation misplaced?
I think about how much pressure that puts on a person. If you are striving to make someone proud, you aren't just fighting your own limitations; you're fighting the weight of their expectations and the history of their absence. It makes the victory feel twice as heavy. You win the prize, but you’re also trying to settle an old debt of recognition.
I’ve started trying to practice "internalizing" my wins lately. It’s hard. When something great happens, the first instinct is to reach for the phone, to tell the person who "should" have been there. When they aren't, the victory can feel strangely hollow, like a meal eaten alone in a crowded room. I’m trying to learn how to be my own witness, to look in the mirror and realize that the gold—metaphorical or otherwise—belongs to me, regardless of who is sitting in the stands.
But I wonder if we can ever truly decouple our successes from our relationships. Is it even possible to be a purely "self-driven" human being, or are we all just a collection of reactions to the people who shaped us?
Does anyone else find that their biggest milestones are driven by a need to prove something to someone from their past? Or have you reached a point where you can celebrate your wins without needing an audience?