Refining Success and Ambition

We all want to be successful. At least that is what I was told from childhood, from school, from social media and from every corner of modern life. Success becomes a word that loses meaning the more you hear it. What does it actually mean in practice? What am I chasing? And why does it feel like so many people run in circles their entire lives, convincing themselves that the next project, the next achievement, the next step will finally bring the feeling they have been waiting for?

When I look at myself honestly, I already achieved many of the things I once believed would make me happy. I thought I understood that it is the journey that matters, not the destination, but clearly I did not absorb that lesson deeply. If I had, I would not equate exhaustion with worth. I would not feel guilty the moment I have spare time. I would not measure my value according to how overwhelmed I feel. Somewhere along the way I internalised the idea that stress equals value. I told myself I was building my future, laying foundations, preparing for something important. But the more I analyse it, the more I see how easily ambition, when disconnected from ethics and purpose, becomes empty effort. I can fill my days with activity, but that does not mean I am creating anything meaningful.

This realisation becomes sharper when I confront my early fascination with economics and finance. When I was younger, I wanted to understand how money flows, how systems operate, how value is created. But as I explored that world, I found myself surrounded by people who seemed disconnected from anything human. They were intelligent, but the work itself felt empty. Numbers moved, but lives did not. I sensed that if I continued in that direction, I would end up in a place where efficiency mattered more than contribution, and I would lose the part of me that cares about helping people. That was one of the first moments when I realised that capitalism, as we usually encounter it, has a way of pulling you into systems that optimise for profit and not for purpose.

This is why Bregman’s idea of moral ambition resonates with me. He describes four categories of people. Those with low idealism and low ambition drift through life. Those with high ambition but low idealism chase status and power without thinking about the consequences. Those with high idealism but low ambition care deeply but do little. And finally, the people who combine both idealism and ambition use their energy to build something that creates real change (Bregman, 2025, chapter 1). When I read this, I started wondering where I am. I know I have idealism and I know I have ambition, but I also know that my execution often slips into busyness without direction. I want to contribute something meaningful in health technology, but wanting is not enough. Moral ambition requires clarity, persistence and courage, not just enthusiasm.

It also requires honesty about where ambition comes from. Many of my goals were shaped by my surroundings. Society pressured me to decide who I wanted to be long before I understood myself. I internalised other people’s expectations, stories and definitions of success. I took on goals that did not come from my heart but from my ego trying to find its place. Each time I reached a milestone that once seemed important, I found nothing waiting on the other side. I had the result, but not the transformation. So I moved to the next goal, hoping the achievement would feel different. It never did.

There was also a deeper layer I did not see at first. Sometimes my ambition did not come from desire but from fear. Sometimes success is not a sign of fulfilment. It can be a trauma response. I built entire parts of my identity on excellence without ever asking myself why I needed to be excellent in the first place. When ambition comes from fear, I do not chase goals because they are meaningful. I chase them because slowing down feels dangerous. I move fast because stillness makes me meet the parts of myself I have avoided. I take responsibility for everything because I do not trust that anyone will hold me if I collapse. From the outside I look driven, focused and unstoppable. But on the inside I was running from the quiet fear that if I stopped performing, people would stop seeing me. That kind of success impresses the world, but it does not satisfy me. It protects me. And protection is not the same as purpose.

There is a moment in life when you realise you already know how to be successful. You understand the code. You know how to work, how to perform, how to push and how to climb. You know how to get almost anything you set your mind to. But then a different question appears. If I can achieve success by running on fear, pressure or old survival patterns, is that the kind of success I actually want? At some point I understood I could keep using my skills to outrun my emptiness, or I could use the same skills to build a life that feels true. The abilities I gained from trauma can stay with me, but the motivation behind them can change. I can take all the discipline, intensity and ambition I have and direct it toward something that comes from fire instead of fear. I can still build an extraordinary life, but it can finally be a life that belongs to me.

Living this way might look productive, but it drains you in ways you do not notice until your body collapses. No wonder so many people burn out. If external goals are not connected to internal meaning, they cannot nourish you. The research supports this. A Deloitte survey found that 77% of full-time professionals in the United States have experienced burnout (Deloitte, 2024). If our current model of success were truly healthy and effective, that number would not exist. And even values alone cannot prevent burnout. Doctors are often deeply committed to their values, yet many still collapse under the weight of a system that overworks them. Burnout is not only about individual choices, it is also about the environments we create and normalise.

This brings me to a broader question. If success is not about doing more, maybe it is about acting better. Maybe success should be measured by contribution, not accumulation. And maybe awareness is not enough. I can know something is wrong and still choose comfort. I can understand injustice and still continue my routine. Bregman writes that awareness alone does not change anything. Awareness is not the same as change, and people often avoid facing the consequences of what they know to be true because it feels uncomfortable (Bregman, 2025). People turn awareness into action only when they are asked, inspired or held accountable. And honestly, most people never reach that point because comfort is easier than courage.

When I look at the structure of human life, the numbers make this even clearer. Out of an average 80-year lifespan, about one third is spent sleeping (Aminoff et al., n.d.). Out of the remaining years, the average person spends around 90 000 hours working, which equals roughly ten full years of conscious effort (McKinsey & Company, 2022). These 90 000 hours are one of the most significant allocations of conscious time we will ever make. So the question is not how hard I work, but how I use this time. If comfort replaces challenge and efficiency replaces meaning, society stagnates. And in environments where people have safety and resources, it becomes even more important to choose a path that contributes to something greater than personal convenience.

But even when I understand all of this intellectually, my internal definitions of success are still shaped by culture. From childhood, I looked for success in others first. I evaluated myself through comparison. I told myself I would feel enough only when others said I was enough. But this kept me trapped. Judge writes that if we do not celebrate who we are, we will never feel like we have done enough (Judge, 2022). This idea is simple, but it has the power to change the entire direction of a life.

A lot of this becomes visible in environments that offer freedom instead of strict structure. When there is no clear path, people often wait for someone else to define success for them. They expect the system to provide goals, validation and direction, and when it does not, they feel lost. Freedom exposes the absence of an internal compass. I see this clearly at Proakatemia. Many students do the minimum, go to Pajas because they have to and hope the environment will somehow shape them into entrepreneurs. But systems cannot give you meaning; they can only reveal whether you already have it. If you come with your own vision, Proakatemia can accelerate it. If you come without one, the freedom can feel overwhelming.

When I first arrived, I believed I would challenge myself, deepen my thinking and grow faster simply by being surrounded by ambitious people. But over time, I realised how much the environment shapes you when you stop paying attention. I found myself thinking less boldly, dreaming less freely and following the patterns of the people around me. Many feel lost or unsure, and it is very easy to absorb that mindset. Instead of growing, I started to shrink. I accepted routines and behaviours that did not match my values. This was not new knowledge to me. I always knew I was responsible for my life. What Proakatemia reminded me is how quietly environments can shape you when you are not intentional. This is not the system’s fault; it is human psychology. We become like the people we spend time with. If a group lacks idealism or ambition, it becomes difficult to hold on to your own. And that means I cannot blame the environment without taking responsibility for how I respond to it. I need to be selective with the people I let influence me. I need people who think deeply, who challenge comfort, who dare to believe that big problems can be solved.

That is why my work with Yoda Mentorship means so much to me. There I meet ambitious young people who think differently, who study in demanding environments, who choose high standards. But even this has its paradox. Prestigious environments often produce impressive results, but they can also create excellent performers who lose touch with their own values. High-pressure systems can shape people into successful adults who do not know what they actually want, who follow instructions rather than intuition and who eventually burn out trying to keep up with expectations.

This made me wonder about my own educational choices. People often ask me why I chose a school that is not considered prestigious. Sometimes I wonder how different my path would be if I studied at Oxford or Aalto or UCL. Would I be happier? Or would I simply be shaped by a different set of pressures? Maybe the only real difference is the selection effect. Prestigious schools choose people who already have potential, resilience and ambition. But even there, many people end up chasing success instead of creating meaning. They spend the first half of their lives trying to achieve something that society praises, and the second half trying to fix the damage that this chase created.

One of the people who helped me rethink all of this is Jan Hovad, the founder of Metalearning. His story shows that success is not a destination but an ongoing process. Life forced him to slow down after a serious health breakdown, and that pause changed everything. Success stopped being about achievement and became about integrity, freedom and contribution. He views life as a series of energetic transactions, where you choose where to place your attention, time and effort (Metalearning.cz, n.d.). This perspective helped me see that entrepreneurship is not about building something impressive; it is about solving your own problem and then helping others solve theirs. It reminded me not to take life too seriously and to treat growth like a set of quests rather than a rigid, stressful plan. My challenge now is to reconnect with these ideas and integrate them into how I live, not just how I think.

There is one more part of myself that I am still figuring out. My love for extreme experiences. I feel most alive when I ride down steep rocks, spend days on a bike, climb peaks I am not fully prepared for or leave for random places without planning. These moments make me feel awake and present. But I also know that adrenaline is not a sustainable foundation for success. It is intensity, not depth. It is a spark, not a direction. I do not yet know how to integrate this part of myself into my definition of success, so for now I simply acknowledge it.

So what does success mean to me? When I strip away everything external, I find something simple and honest. I am proud of the person I am becoming. I show up. I work hard. I stay honest with myself. I make active decisions. I try even when I am afraid. I experience deeply. I live a life full of emotions and experiences, and I value that richness. Success, for me, is being at peace with myself. It is living in alignment with my values. It is choosing the life I want and actively creating it. It is showing up fully, with vulnerability and intention. It is understanding that the only place success truly exists is in the present moment.

All I ever have is now. And if I can live now with clarity, courage and peace, then I am already successful.