The Curse of the Next Thing
A few weeks ago, I toured a local ice cream factory and left feeling surprisingly small.
The operation was impressive. They were buying ingredients in quantities that would make me nervous, producing at a scale I can't even imagine, and running the kind of business that makes you realize how many levels there are to this game. I've spent the last year worrying about donut inventory and labor schedules, while they have entire systems dedicated to things I haven't even had to think about yet.
Driving home, I found myself questioning whether I had any business advising other companies when my own operation feels so tiny in comparison.
The funny thing is that if you'd asked me a few years ago what success looked like, I probably would have described something pretty close to what I have now. I wanted a business with repeat customers. I wanted employees I could trust. I wanted to stop being the person who had to solve every problem, work every shift, and carry the entire operation on my back. I wanted a business that could function without my constant involvement.
Somewhere along the way, I got most of those things.
The problem is that once you achieve a goal, it has a way of becoming invisible. What once felt exciting eventually becomes normal, and what becomes normal stops feeling like an accomplishment. Instead of appreciating what you've built, you start looking at the next thing that's missing.
I think business owners are especially guilty of this. We tell ourselves we'll relax when sales hit a certain number, when we hire the right employee, when we open a second location, when we finally get organized, when we have enough cash in the bank. Then we get there and immediately create a new target.
The goalposts move so quietly that we barely notice.
Lately, I've caught myself doing exactly that. The donut shop runs largely without me now. That was the dream. For years, the entire business depended on me being present. Today, I can step away for a few hours, take my kids to baseball, work on other projects, or even think about what's next. Instead of celebrating that freedom, I've been focused on the fact that the business isn't generating the income I ultimately want.
That's a valid concern, but it's not the whole story.
The bigger lesson from that ice cream factory wasn't that I need a bigger business. It was a reminder that every business looks small when you're standing next to a larger one. There will always be someone with more employees, more locations, more inventory, more revenue, or more experience. If comparison is the measuring stick, the finish line keeps moving forever.
Ambition is important. I still want to grow. I still want the next challenge. But I've also been trying to remember that many of the things I take for granted today were things I desperately wanted not that long ago.
We spend so much time chasing the next thing that we rarely stop to acknowledge the things we once prayed for.
Maybe that's why success never feels quite the way we expect it to.
