The Cost of These Dreams

We all want to succeed, and we’ve heard every quotable line in existence about how to get there. You have to want it. You have to want it bad. You know who makes it? Those who want it bad. They want it more than you.

Though it’s a nice sentiment to get you fired up with that menacing head-down hunger, wanting it is obviously not enough. All of us want it.

I’m sure you’re familiar with the Eric Thomas speech featuring the line: “When you want success as bad as you want to breathe, then you’ll be successful!”

I like the idea Eric, but - to be honest - I don’t want it that bad.

Let me be perfectly clear: I want to succeed. But not more than I want to breathe. Faced with suffocation, drowning, or a knife in my windpipe - in that harrowing, time-stopping moment - I’d desperately, hopelessly, want to breathe, exponentially more than I’ll ever want to become a multimillionaire.

Yes, you have to want it. And I do. Hell yeah I want it. I want it more than anyone else. It can be helpful to self-motivate in such a way, but surface-level, vague self-talk only goes so far, while deeper, specific self-reflection is what’s truly necessary for defining and achieving success.

The title of Thomas’ speech is How Bad Do You Want It? If asked this question, I’d likely respond “bad” or something equally as clever. That isn’t a helpful answer, because we’re not asking a helpful question. The question would be better phrased as:

What cost are you willing to pay for your success?

To stay on-brand and rephrase it once again, but more dramatic:

What is the cost of these dreams?

When I was 8, I wanted a gear bike for my 9th birthday. All the neighborhood kids had bikes that could change speeds and make it easier to go uphill. Little 8-year-old me was falling behind the pack, working harder not smarter, sucking wind, lumbering along, fighting a literal uphill battle using sheer grit, force and whatever momentum me and my regular old bicycle could generate.

(These were the days when you would discover where the crew was by riding past a scrapyard heap of scooters and bikes piled heavily on the sidewalk. This reminiscence is unrelated to my point; I just wanted to callback to the joyous childhood that today’s children have been robbed of by smartphones and social media.)

On my 9th birthday, my parents handed me a letter saying they’d get me the bike, and even let me pick it out. So I went with them to Dick’s Sporting Goods and got a gold one with handbrakes and a 7-speed gear change. It was sick.

I had also asked for an Xbox 360, which I didn’t get. I didn’t mind - I knew that I would probably get one gift or the other. The ‘rents weren’t going to get me two large-scale presents just for accomplishing the great feat of turning nine years old. The cost of the bike was that I didn’t get the Xbox. This is called opportunity cost, defined as “the loss of potential gain from other alternatives when one alternative is chosen.”

I wanted that bike. I dreamed about it. Imagined myself riding it. I wanted it bad. I thought I did, at least. But if the cost had been raised, I might have realized I didn’t want it that bad.

I had to write my parents a polite letter asking for it, then wait until my birthday and hope. If instead, my parents required that I write a 100-page essay, or go to summer school, or lose a leg, I wouldn’t have wanted it that bad. Actually, I think I’m good. I’ll keep huffin’ and puffin’ uphill.

We don’t want success. We want success at the lowest possible cost. This is the way we want everything: the best value at the lowest price. It’s nothing to be ashamed of; it’s human nature.

Upon my graduation from Clemson in 2023, I wanted to get rich, and I wanted to do it quickly. That was success to me, and whoever could offer me the most realistic way to do that at high speed is who I would choose to be employed by. This is why two days after graduation I drove to shiny, sunlit Tampa to work for a tech start-up with a new chrome office in a tall prestigious building.

Before accepting the job, 21-year-old me subconsciously did the math in my college apartment, weighing the best possible options for my future. Though I didn’t lay it out explicitly at the time, here was success:

Stacking equity in a tech start-up with fresh venture-backed funding, getting in on “the ground floor” as an early and therefore irreplaceable employee. As the company expands, a team will be built around (already wealthy and established) me, which will make me even more money, and - in turn - prestige (and whatever else I probably wanted.) People might think I’m cool because I work with famous DJs. When the company undoubtedly goes public, I will have the opportunity to join any company at whatever pay I demand, because I gambled on this small company that no one else knew about, which means I’m smart and right about things. If I stay long enough, I will get rich.

What I didn’t consider was how much it cost to get rich this way. Here was the cost:

Faking the illusion of doing work during downtime, withstanding coaxing to exaggerate the truth, experiencing awkward tension when refusing to stay late in the office to continue the illusion of doing more work. Receiving no personal development or training. Losing out on making memories with my brothers, parents, friends. Knowing that I could instead be doing meaningful work and giving more to the world. Feeling unnecessary and that my work is unnecessary. Wondering how optimizing a music booking process would ever save or dramatically improve the world. Suppressing the feeling that I had no degree of control over the company’s direction, and increasingly less control over my life’s direction. Sleepwalking through each work day until it ended and I could return to writing. Getting eaten by a nagging feeling that I should professionally record those songs I was writing after work.

I left this job in May 2024. Do I still want to get rich? Sure. But after a year, I came to the realization that I didn’t want to get rich at that cost.

Here’s something we already know: The path you take matters. Getting there isn’t everything, how you get there matters. The journey is more important than the destination.

All of my 21-year-old success predictions would eventually have come true at this company. But I never really wanted those things; that was someone else’s definition of success, and I fell for it. Even if all those things came true, they weren’t worth the price. I’d have spent about a decade paying for something that I didn’t value that highly.

Let’s say you want to make some eggs for breakfast tomorrow. So you go to the supermarket, grab a dozen eggs, head to the check-out line, pay $500, and cruise on home. You got what you wanted, but you also got scammed. Life is the same way - you have to consider the cost. Don’t overpay for success.

I recommend following two simple steps to avoid overpaying for success:

1. Define success for yourself

2. Define what that success costs

Since success looks different for all of us, the sacrifices necessary for our desired level of success will look different as well. There is always a cost; choosing to do something is choosing not to do the potentially millions of other somethings. 

That can be an overwhelming realization, but it’s one you can’t run from. It should be a wake up call to live an intentional life, and be aware of what you’re giving up by chasing what you’re after. Depending on your dream, success may not be very expensive. If it’s worth it, stay the course.

Most people don’t ever wonder if it was worth it until it’s too late. Millions of us slug their way through life without ever giving thought to if they’re living how they want - don’t be one of ‘em!

These thoughts are all coming from my recent decision to chase that neon rainbow and find out if I can make it as a musician. In this endeavor, success to me looks like this: strangers knowing the words to my songs, dancing in the kitchen with their loved ones to them, kids blaring them on the highway with their windows down. Touring the country, experiencing its people and the fullness of the all-American adventure. Telling stories that I think should be told and that I enjoy listening to. Building something permanent, songs that will be meaningful to people even after I die. Going all the way and not half-assing it. Inspiring others to think, love, feel - and again - sing along and dance.

The cost is the following: I miss out on a steady salary and will bartend to supplement income from shows. Work, live shows, and studio sessions are sporadic and I will be largely at the mercy of those schedules. I risk potential embarrassment and ridicule by posting videos on social media and might lose Instagram followers (oh, the horror). I miss out on parts of the classic post-grad experience of living in a big city and struggling to make ends meet with my friends. The car gets a lot of miles on it and I’ll spend a lot of time traveling. Moms at kitchen counters in my hometown might gossip about the promising future I once had. I’ll have to convince myself that the plan is going to work even when short-term evidence will not always indicate it.  

I’m willing to pay this cost. The reward and potential upside outweigh what I lose. The cost of this dream is preferable to the most expensive cost: the aching feeling on my deathbed that maybe I should have done more with my life.

Your definition of success changes over time, and so does what you’re willing to give up. If this isn’t working out by the time I’m 30, and all the good girls are married and all my friends are buying suburban houses, this dream probably won’t be worth the cost anymore. But for now, it’s not too expensive.

You might achieve “success.” But you might also be miserable as a result. Follow your own definition. Nothing is more harrowing than waking up at 90-years-old to realize you wasted your life on a misidentified success. The cost of success may have been the adventure of your life, the journey you never took, the dream you failed to chase, or the family you didn’t dedicate time to. Most of us don’t consider the cost until the buzzer goes off and time has expired. Are you living how you want?

We’re all going to make it. I believe that wholeheartedly. There’s more to life than just making it. How will you make it?

In Sum:

• Define success for yourself and the cost of each specific dream. Only pursue that dream if the cost is worth the experience of the journey - not just the potential upside. Search for the best value at the best cost.

• Everything has a cost. Make sure you know what you’re giving up.

• Do not sleepwalk through life. Determine if the life you are living is the life you want. Reevaluate as you grow.

• You might get what you want, but you might get scammed in the process. Don’t overpay for success.

• The journey is not only important, it’s the whole damn point. That’s what life is.

• Don’t over-focus on the destination. When living the dream and chasing the dream occur simultaneously, that is the adventure of your life.

Thanks for reading!