We chase financial independence and early retirement, believing these achievements will provide a better life. But what if the pursuit of such goals is actually trapping us?
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I’ve drifted in and out of the meritocracy trap over the years, but mostly, I’ve stayed stuck in its sticky web. I quickly learned the value of good grades and securing better jobs. Once I landed a good job and the race to secure it was over, I descended into despair at the thought of doing it for the next forty years. Fast-forward a decade, and financial independence allowed me to sidestep the meritocracy trap. However, this too felt like another shiny merit badge. When I reached that point, I looked around and realized, like a bus rider stepping off at the wrong stop: damn it—this isn’t it.
Who would have thought you couldn’t find happiness by looking for it?
The Meritocracy Trap
Our culture defines success by external markers: degrees, job titles, and material wealth. “Good enough” is never enough. We are expected to be exceptional and to always strive for more. But this quest for fulfillment can fade into an insatiable hunger, like eating Cheetos or trying to fill a bucket with holes.
The meritocratic ideal has far-reaching tentacles, driving us to measure our worth through what we achieve in all aspects of life. What’s missing, though, is any real education on human flourishing or how to achieve it. We chase happiness through accomplishments, only to discover that bucket lists can make you sad. You can hustle through a list of goals, but you might find yourself on a beautiful ledge alone and out of step with the world around you.
Ambition is fine. Goals are fine. But when striving becomes an obsession, success can shift from something motivating to a spiritual burden. The change is slow and devilishly imperceptible. Our minds wrap a cozy, protective blanket around our choices. And when everyone around us is doing the same thing, it’s even harder to see the situation for what it is.
Four years ago, I thought, “Ah, what the hell. Let’s do something crazy.” And so I did.
The Illusion of Self-Fulfillment
In early 2020, I sort of quit my job to pursue my passion for climbing and travel, surmising that without my pesky job, I could finally live on my terms. At first, the freedom was incredible—my climbing improved, and I enjoyed a crowd-free existence. But soon, I realized that even climbing—something I’d once loved for the joy of moving over stone—was becoming another form of achievement.
As the months passed without external structure, I soon found myself adrift. Motivation? Gone. Worst of all, I began to feel like an outsider.
Are You Being Influenced?
As I sought to escape the meritocratic grind (but before I left my job), I started this project on the side. I wanted to write about stuff I’d found interesting, working hard to resist becoming the dreaded content creator. But as a few more of you showed up, I kind of enjoyed the attention. I started to imagine what you wanted to hear and how I could reach even more of you. It begins so innocently, doesn’t it?
Meanwhile, social media was (and probably still is) a Dollywood-themed bizarre carnival stage of snake oil, with everyone filming themselves talking about eating only beef or purple potatoes or, my god, election-year politics. I don’t know; maybe your algorithm is different.
Yet, there I was, creating online content—sharing my “unique” lifestyle, philosophy, and ideas for self-improvement. I began to wonder with increasing horror: Am I becoming an influencer?
I’m a geologist, not an expert in personal finance, economics, and psychology. And no one ever called me out on it! Sure, I worked hard to research and fact-check, but isn’t that the danger of listening to people like me?
I cringed at the thought of contributing to the noise I’d always despised. The pursuit of attention—even for causes like financial literacy—began to feel like another form of overt striving. By trying to escape the meritocratic trap, I had unwittingly burrowed deeper into it.
Rediscovering Purpose in Meaningful Work
The turning point came when I read Richard Rhodes’ The Making of the Atomic Bomb, the incredible story of Manhattan Project physicists driven not by fame or fortune but by a deeper sense of purpose. Sure, there was the whole “atomic bomb” thing, but their work had meaning beyond themselves. I wanted to be part of something again. I no longer wished to live outside society, decrying its failings and growing delusional in my beliefs.
So, I made another change. I decided it was time to embrace work that wasn’t just about my personal opinions and experiences, but about topics that demand more research, structure, collaboration, and—most importantly—editorial oversight. In other words, a job. I still maintain a lot of flexibility, but I’ve relinquished some freedom for externally imposed deadlines. And yes, I’m getting paid. It’s hardly glamorous (McDonald’s employees probably make more), but it feels right. I’m still attached to this project, but I find more fulfillment contributing to something beyond a series of life hacks.
While the puppet strings of achievement still tug at me and the process can be very frustrating, it feels nice to gird the loins again.
Humans tell stories, and stories without purpose are like broth without the fat. Endless leisure and personal freedom can lead to a tasteless, flat life. Purpose, life’s richest broth, comes from positive relationships and hard work that aligns with our values and serves others.
The Wisdom of Water
Along this path, I found guidance in Taoist teachings. I know, right? The irony is thick. Taoists speak of water as a metaphor for wisdom and balance. Water flows naturally, never forcing its way but adapting to obstacles, nurturing without striving. For years, I’d been swimming upstream, trying to mold a clay pot of contentment. It took time to understand that, like water, I needed to let go.
Ancient Taoists said, “The more you give, the more you have.” This idea—that abundance comes not from taking but from giving—isn’t just a poetic ideal. Science is just beginning to catch up with it. True fulfillment comes, in part, from aligning our skills and values with something larger than ourselves.
Living a Life of Purpose
In the meritocratic world, we often define success by wealth, status, and power—ingredients for a very disappointing cake. Real freedom? It doesn’t come from endless leisure or the absence of work, at least not at my age. It comes from purpose. Positive relationships and value-driven work create a deeper, more lasting freedom.
Meritocracy tells us we must win the race to succeed. But when we stop chasing accolades, titles, and attention—when we let go of the constant striving, the hustle, and the corporate-speak-laden LinkedIn novellas—we can begin to live more fully.
It’s not easy. I’m not here to tell you I’ve “arrived” (far from it). The irony of this post isn’t lost on me. Breaking free of this conditioning, like any addiction, involves struggle, backsliding, and relapse. The first step—acknowledging that the life we’ve been chasing is flawed and learning to let go—is pretty weird and unsettling. As comedian Bill Burr put it, it’s like “that creepy moment in curling” when the rock slides on without the thrower. We’ve spent so much time forcing an ideal, but maybe it’s time to let go. We might find that the life we sought was already there, waiting for us to stop trying so hard.
I think you nailed it.
Even pursuing FIRE and achieving it is nothing more than playing the same game everyone else is.
Flowing freely like water, now that is something not many can do, but is perhaps the ONLY real path to “freedom”
if there is even such a thing.
I know I’ve thought more about this as I’ve burnt out on social media and writing to an extent and not to mention picked up far too many things to work on in my early retirement and none of which seem to be proving me as much purpose as I would have hoped.