Why Success Feels Empty—and What Your Soul Is Actually Asking For
On the difference between the mountain you were taught to climb and the one that's truly yours
The short version: Success leaves people hollow not because achievement is meaningless, but because we chase surface wants (things like money, prestige, titles, possessions, or fame) instead of the soul-level values underneath them. When you climb the mountain that's actually yours, the summit will feel like destiny, rather than emptiness. And what's asked of you at the top isn't another climb—it's to let yourself be truly seen, which heals both you and everyone witnessing you. Being visible doesn't mean sharing everything; it means choosing, with care and sensitivity, which true things to tell.
In 2021, my company was making more money than it ever had. Spectacle—the inclusive marketing agency I'd built—was working with dream clients: global brands who were influencing culture at-large, and local organizations doing impact-driven community work. We were busy enough that we could turn work away, and be discerning in choosing partners whose values for diversity, racial justice, and equity matched ours. I felt fulfilled collaborating with brilliant colleagues and clients, building a workplace culture that allowed neurodivergent, disabled, women of color to thrive, and having the freedom to make my own schedule and live between Denver & Copenhagen (hello, very long distance relationship!)
Somewhere, in the middle of that peak, I had a realization that’s stayed with me:
The reward for doing great work is more work.
We did fantastic, paradigm-shifting work that transformed the mindset of leaders, and developed culturally-specific strategies for companies to authentically connect with their audiences. Our fantastic work got us more work. And while many agency owners would choose to scale at this point, my business partner and I didn’t have the desire to hire more team members, manage more projects, or add more complexity to the business and our lives. Instead of climbing the next mountain, we chose to enjoy the view at our summit.
So, we kept operating as a boutique studio and eventually took a sabbatical in Japan. The experience offered me peace and perspective in the heart of Kyoto, of one of the most poetic cities in the world. I spent my mornings writing poems on the sunlit patio of the neighborhood coffee shop and my afternoons wandering Nishiki Market, chit-chatting with shopkeepers in elementary Japanese. I was immersed in a culture that oozed reverence, awareness, and intention. By connecting with these cultural values, I was able to sharpen my own. I realized I had reached a summit aligned with my true values of freedom, creative expression, and an interbeing with the world around me—and I let myself fully enjoy feeling fulfilled and accomplished.
Why doesn't success feel the way we were promised?
I was raised in a traditional Asian American household, and many people in my community are similarly high-achieving, high-octane individuals. A common sentiment I witness is the hollowness that can arrive after achievement: the gifted Ivy-league graduate who lands the promotion and feels nothing, or the entrepreneur who builds the company but loses themself along the way. The existential questioning that can happen while knee-deep in hustling (“Wait, what am I hustling for?”) or after they’ve accomplished the big thing(“Now what?”).
For me, my dad’s relentless tiger parenting was his way of showing love: if you work hard, you’ll be successful—and ultimately, happy. He was showing me what he knew as the path of least resistance to success and happiness.
It took me years of self-excavation to figure out what success actually means to me: health, a regulated nervous system, artistic expression, freedom to live my days the way I want, fulfilling relationships, and a deep connection with nature and spirit.
When Spectacle reached its peak, I’d already done the work of rooting my fulfillment somewhere other than my output. My contentment came from my art, my relationships, and the way I live my life: joyfully, ardently, and fully alive. I knew that I built my company to work for me, and not the other way around—to provide me with flexibility, freedom, and time & space for my creative endeavors. So, when it became time to close the business and pursue my next chapter, I felt satisfied, fulfilled, and complete. I felt at peace, excited for the abundance the empty space would bring.
Reflecting on my accomplishment with Spectacle got me thinking: Why does success leave so many brilliant people feeling hollow?
My business partner, Niki, and I in Kyoto, Japan
Why do high achievers feel empty when they "make it"?
High-achievers are taught to strive for money, prestige, and recognition. Whether it’s parents, societal expectations, or hustle culture, external programming teaches us that if we acquire these things, we will be safe, worthy, and deserving of love.
When we chase other people’s definitions of success without first figuring out what success means to us, it feels empty when we do reach those milestones. These surface wants don’t reach the core of what the soul actually desires.
Let’s take money as an example: yes, I want money—but what are the values or desires underneath that want? For me, it’s stability and the desire to start growing a family. It’s the freedom to travel and feel inspired by being immersed in different cultures. It’s also space to pursue my art. The money itself isn’t the point—it’s in service of the values that are truly mine on a soul level.
What are the things that genuinely light you up, or nourish your soul? When you strip away outside perception, what do you actually want? When you work towards the things that are truly aligned with your soul’s desires, your summit won’t feel empty—it’ll feel like destiny. Like you were meant to do this, in this lifetime, in this exact way.
Beyond the to-do list, what is yours to do?
If you've climbed the mountain and you're standing at the top feeling an eerie flatness, pause.
In all likelihood, your assignment is not to climb another mountain. Your assignment is to be seen.
To excavate your true self, desires, and dreams—and to make them known to yourself and others. To share the perspectives, wisdom, and stories only you can share, and shine who you are at your core (and not just what you’ve accomplished).
Why does being seen matter this much?
Being seen is healing—not only for the person being witnessed, but also for those witnessing. Each time you uncover and share your authentic self with others, it shows your audience that they are safe to be who they truly are, too. Collectively, this builds a world that is safer, more connected, and more liberated.
When I released my debut poetry book, Gospel of a Whole Sun, readers told me that my story helped them heal. Reading about how I endured an abusive relationship, moved through the anti-Asian violence of the pandemic, and transformed my pain into healing, beauty, and power gave them a roadmap for their own journey. On my book tour, strangers walked up to me and shared their deepest secrets—relationships they’ve survived, or dreams they’ve never said out loud. Being visible and sharing my stories awakened their desire to shine their most authentic self, too.
What if you're scared to share your true self?
If you feel a twinge of nervousness thinking about being visible, you’re not alone. It’s natural to fear being perceived or judged, hurting people you care about by sharing your truth, or simply feeling exposed or vulnerable.
Let me say this clearly: being visible does not mean you owe the world every detail of your life.
It starts with giving yourself consent to tell your own story. What’s important to share that would be of service to others, or the story you’re telling? What’s private and sacred to you? Values-aligned visibility does not mean total exposure—and should be cultivated through discernment, sensitivity, and care.
With my coaching clients, I often describe this as the difference between memoir and poetry. A memoir reveals everything that happened within a timeframe of someone’s life, and offers a complete view of the writer’s inner and outer world. In poetry, the poet chooses the details that feel true and necessary—and leaves the rest unsaid. (Note that even this analogy is an imperfect example, as the author still has the authority to write their own story in a memoir!)
You get that same authority a poet has: you choose which details to share. You are not obligated to hand over the unedited transcript of your life to be worthy of being seen. Shaping and editing life experiences into nuanced, resonant, and powerful stories is the work I do with clients.
Journaling prompts for your own excavation
Grab a notebook, set a timer for 5-10 minutes per question, and write. Try not to censor or edit yourself—let your gut and intuition guide you.
Think of a time (or a few times) when you felt fully alive. Describe it in detail. What were you doing, and who were you being?
Name something you're striving for right now. What's the value or desire underneath it? And underneath that?
What would success look like if it were measured solely by what nourishes your soul?
If money, outside perception, and time constraints were no object, what would you do with your life?
If this is where you are
If these questions stirred something in you, know that I see you. It can feel lonely at the top of the mountain, and strange to feel empty after hustling so hard towards something you might not truly want.
You don’t have to move through it alone. If you feel called to uncover your true purpose, values, or desires; or have a story you need help telling, I’d love to support you. Together, we can shape a life abundant with meaning, contentment, and success, as you define it.