Why Money, Promotion, and LinkedIn Likes Aren’t Making You Happy Anymore
You’ve achieved more, connected more, and climbed faster than ever. But what if the problem isn’t your pace—it’s what you’ve left behind beneath the surface?
Quick Summary: This post uses the metaphor of a tree to explore the difference between external success (branches) and inner stability (roots). Many people grow fast due to favorable external conditions—but without a strong inner foundation, that growth often leads to burnout, anxiety, or collapse. Here’s how to recognize the difference—and what to do about it.
Branches vs. Roots
Before we go further, let’s be clear about what the branches actually represent.
Branches are everything visible: career titles, impressive résumés, FAANG logos, speaking invites, podcast features, thousands of followers, startup funding rounds, likes on your posts, and shoutouts from people with influence. They’re the public-facing signs of momentum—the things others notice and admire.
They’re not bad. In fact, they often reflect effort and risk. But they don’t tell the whole story.
Because you can grow branches without growing roots. And when that happens, the very things that once made you feel proud begin to feel hollow. That’s the paradox we’re unpacking.
We admire trees for their branches: their height, their reach, their fruit. In people, we admire the same—status, influence, visible success.
But what really sustains a tree isn't above ground. It’s what you don’t see: the roots.
How Can a Tree Grow Tall If Its Roots Aren’t Deep?
Some people grow branches fast—but not because they’re deep. They simply landed in fertile soil.
Maybe you joined a company at the perfect moment. Promotions were flying around, and there weren’t many candidates in line. Or you stumbled into a booming industry—crypto, AI, mobile—and found yourself rewarded long before you were ready. Maybe you went viral. Or maybe you stayed while others left, and by default, you became the most experienced one in the room.
Or your manager left suddenly and leadership needed someone—anyone—to step in. Or a key client liked your vibe and pulled you into their inner circle. Or your co-founder had a network that made everything easier. Or you got a job because someone vouched for you—not because of your track record, but because of their reputation. Or you simply fit the mold of what decision-makers felt comfortable with. Or maybe the most knowledgeable people left because they didn’t respect the leadership or disagreed with how things were run, and you—despite average performance reviews—became the default choice just for staying put.
It feels like growth. And from the outside, it looks earned. But the real trap is psychological: you might start to believe it all came from within. That the reason things are working is because you’re resilient, grounded, wise. That your results reflect your inner depth.
Sometimes that’s true. But not always. Often, the growth came from the environment—not from the roots.
Believing it was your own strength can keep you from doing the hard work of building actual strength. It creates an illusion of depth. And if you start believing that branches equal roots, you stop developing the thing that actually sustains you when the environment shifts.
But more importantly, all of this quick success—when unsupported by real depth—makes you brittle. You begin to fear losing what you didn’t truly build. You become more reactive, more insecure, more addicted to external validation. And when the conditions change—as they always do—it’s the shallow root system that buckles first.
What Fertile Soil Looks Like
Favorable conditions can make growth look earned even when it's not fully grounded.
Some people benefit from timing—they’re in the right place when opportunity appears. Others inherit advantages: wealth, connections, or early exposure to ambition. Sometimes the environment itself lifts you—protective managers, low competition, or a well-timed boost from a powerful voice. And of course, there’s always sheer luck. A door opens. Someone introduces you. Things fall into place.
These conditions are real. But they don’t necessarily mean you’re growing where it counts.
What Are Roots, Really?
If the branches are external success—what are the roots?
They're not more skills. They're not more credentials. They’re the invisible structures that keep you stable when success isn’t showing up. They’re the systems that prevent you from over-identifying with your wins—or unraveling with your losses. Roots are what hold the weight of your life, not just decorate it.
Spiritual maturity is one. Like the founder whose startup fails, but they don’t spiral. They know how to return to stillness, to a center that isn’t tied to outcomes. Then there’s perspective: the engineer who misses a promo but doesn’t panic. They zoom out. They’ve seen cycles before. They trust timing.
Healthy paradigms, too—like the product lead who realizes their perfectionism is sabotaging results and chooses to shift, not double down. They’re not driven by the fear of not being enough, but by clarity of purpose.
Strong character is a root. The manager who shields their teammate from unfair blame, even if it costs them politically. They don’t treat integrity as a tactic. And values—the developer who walks away from a high-paying but morally misaligned offer because peace matters more than pay.
Resilience is another root, but not the kind that’s loud or self-congratulatory. It’s the quiet, unglamorous kind. The kind that says, “I’ll show up again tomorrow,” even after rejection, uncertainty, or fear.
These are your taproots. Quiet. Invisible. But absolutely essential. They don’t just support you—they shape the kind of growth that lasts.
Growth Without Roots Makes You Fragile
At first, it all feels like winning.
You start collecting visible markers: a promotion at a big-name company, thousands of likes on LinkedIn, a growing network of ambitious peers, a résumé that makes recruiters chase you.
But slowly, the inner erosion begins.
The more success piles up, the less space you have to just be a person. You're more visible, but also more performative. You're more connected, but strangely more alone. You're achieving more than you ever thought possible, and yet your baseline happiness keeps dropping.
You start to feel anxious when you're not achieving. Or worse—you’re achieving and still feel nothing. Your sense of satisfaction lags behind your accomplishments. The dopamine fades faster. You keep feeding the system, hoping the next win will feel different.
That’s when you realize: without roots, your growth doesn’t anchor you. It exposes you.
And that exposure turns into fragility.
You might have all the surface-level signs of success. Your title grows. Your audience grows. Your income grows.
But inside? You’re anxious when progress slows. You doubt your own decisions. You can’t enjoy what you have. You start numbing yourself just to keep moving. It looks like strength. But it's brittleness. A tree growing faster than its roots can support.
Success on paper doesn’t equal peace. That comes from underneath.
So How Do You Fix It?
Don’t stop growing upward. But also grow inward.
Keep building your craft. But also build your character. Sit with discomfort instead of avoiding it. Read things that challenge you, not just affirm you. Define what you value, and live by it—especially when it costs you something. Let your worldview evolve. Strengthen your inner core.
Pursue spiritual depth, not just intellectual edge. Develop the kind of prayer, reflection, or presence that grounds you in something deeper than ambition. Learn to listen—truly listen—to the stillness beneath all the noise. Build time for solitude. Develop reverence, even if it’s quiet and personal. Let your inner life become more than just recovery from work.
Develop the kind of presence that doesn’t need performance. Practice saying no without guilt. Learn to stay put in uncertainty without grasping for external reassurance. Let go of the need to always be impressive.
And most importantly, build a life that doesn’t fall apart when applause fades.
Because the happiest, most grounded people I know? They don’t always have the flashiest branches. But their roots run deep. Their peace isn't conditional. And when storms come, they’re still standing.
Reflection Prompt
Are you growing faster than your roots can support?
Or are you becoming someone who can hold all that you’re building?
Grow tall. But dig deep.
Always both.
A friend once said, "I don’t feel like I’m doing much these days. No big projects, no major milestones. But for the first time in years, I feel... solid. Not restless. Not searching. Just still."
I asked what changed.
He paused. "I realized I was always climbing something. Chasing something. Even when I succeeded, it never felt like enough. I thought I had inner peace—but really, I just had momentum. When things slowed down, so did I. And I didn’t like who I met when the noise stopped."
He looked away, then smiled. "So I started tending. My habits. My faith. My relationships. I wake up early now—not to hustle, but to pray. I journal, not to optimize, but to listen. I spend time with people who ask nothing of me. It’s like I stopped growing out and started growing in."
He hadn’t launched a new product. He hadn’t gotten promoted. But there was a weight to his presence. A steadiness in his voice. He wasn’t building a brand anymore—he was becoming a person.
That’s what deep roots look like.
Not loud. Not flashy. But unshakable.
And maybe that’s the reminder we all need: this world isn’t forever. We are not here to endlessly accumulate, impress, or ascend. We are guests in a vast guesthouse, passing through on our way home.
Let your life reflect that.
Grow your branches. But tend to your roots.
And don’t forget—you were never meant to stay.