Hey friends,
So I’ve had this quote rattling around in my head for a while now—the kind that just pops up when you’re doing something completely unrelated, like folding laundry or staring at the ceiling at 2 a.m. It’s from Albert Einstein, and it goes:
“Try not to become a man of success, but rather try to become a man of value.”
I know, I know. Roger and his quotes. But stick with me. This one actually gets under my skin in a way I can’t shake.
Because everywhere I look, we’re drowning in success stories. Loud ones. Flashy ones. Stories with yachts, private jets, and headlines that scream about net worth like it’s the only scoreboard that matters. And the longer I sit with it, the more I realize how often “success” has very little to do with value.
Success Is a Billboard. Value Is a Foundation.
Here’s the thing I keep coming back to: success likes attention. It wants applause. It wants numbers attached to it. Followers. Dollars. Rankings.
Value? Value just… works.
Most days, value doesn’t trend. It doesn’t come with a press release. It shows up early, stays late, and usually doesn’t get its name spelled right on the thank-you card.
And honestly? The people doing the work that actually keeps the world stitched together rarely look like the people holding the microphone.
Billionaires Make the News. Workers Make the World Run.
Let’s talk billionaires for a second. Not all of them—because nuance exists—but enough of them to make the point.
We’re told they’re “visionaries.” “Self-made.” “Innovators.” And sure, some of them had ideas. But ideas don’t build warehouses. Ideas don’t stock shelves. Ideas don’t answer phones at 6 a.m. or clean offices after everyone else goes home.
People do that.
The folks packing boxes, writing code, fixing machines, caring for patients, teaching kids, cooking food, cleaning messes—those are the people creating actual value. Their labor keeps the lights on, the systems moving, the gears turning. Strip them out, and all the money in the world just sits there, useless.
I’ve always found it strange that we celebrate the person at the top while quietly ignoring the hundreds or thousands underneath holding everything up. If value were measured honestly, the spotlight would look very different.
I Think About This a Lot as a Writer
I’m not a billionaire. Shocking, I know.
I write books. I blog. I toss my thoughts into the void and hope they land somewhere soft. And early on, I got caught up in the success math. Sales numbers. Rankings. Algorithms doing whatever mysterious nonsense they do.
But the moments that actually stick with me? They’re quieter.
An email from someone who said a story helped them through a rough patch. A comment from a reader who felt seen. A DM that starts with, “I didn’t know how much I needed this.”
That’s value. No chart needed.
Those moments don’t pay rent by themselves, but they remind me why I sit down at the keyboard in the first place. They feel human. They feel real.
Value Has a Long Memory
Success burns hot and fast. Today’s headline is tomorrow’s “whatever happened to…?”
Value sticks around.
You probably remember a teacher who took you seriously when no one else did. Or a friend who showed up when things were messy and uncomfortable. Or a stranger who did something small that somehow changed your whole week.
None of those people were chasing success. They were just… being useful. Kind. Present.
And years later, you still remember them.
That says a lot.
I’m Trying to Aim Lower (And Mean It as a Compliment)
I used to think aiming for success was the responsible thing. Now I’m not so sure.
These days, I’m more interested in being someone whose presence makes things a little easier. A little warmer. A little less sharp around the edges. I want my work to matter to someone, even if it never blows up in the way the internet likes to reward.
I’d rather be valuable than impressive.
And if that means my life looks smaller on paper but richer in the day-to-day? I can live with that. Happily.
Anyway, that’s where my head’s been lately—somewhere between a quote, a cup of coffee, and the quiet realization that the people doing the real work rarely get statues built for them.
But they’re the reason anything works at all.
What if the dead could find you anywhere—at school, on the street, even in your own house? For Nick, the world has cracked open, and ghosts are pouring through. Ready or not, he’s their only hope. Read the book that began it all: NIck’s Awakening