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The Marathon of More


This isn’t a rant.

It’s what I noticed after I finally stepped off the treadmill…
and realized everyone else was still sprinting.

We’re all running toward an invisible finish line called Perfect.

Somewhere between graduation and our first Amazon Prime account,
we got sold the idea that more is the goal.

More house.
More car.
More degrees.
More weighted vests—

when did those become suburban status symbols?

We call it “health,”
but I’ve seen people walking Labradoodles in military-grade armor
just to close their Apple Watch rings.

I’m not judging.

I’ve been that guy.

The “buy the new one because the old one still works” guy.
The “a bigger backyard will bring us closer” guy.
The “if I get this title, I’ll finally feel enough” guy.

Spoiler: I didn’t.

Now the race has trickled down to our kids.

Elementary schoolers comparing iPhones like traders.
Birthday parties with grazing tables that look like the Last Supper.

And underneath it all?

Anxiety. In a bouncy castle.

Then there’s Halloween.

Twelve-foot skeletons.
Fog machines that could open for Beyoncé.
A silent neighborhood competition no one agreed to—
but everyone’s playing.

I don’t remember when we stopped decorating for joy
and started decorating for validation.

But I think I know why.

We’re afraid to stop.

Because if we stop, it gets quiet.

And if it gets quiet, we have to face the question
we’ve been outrunning since graduation:

What if more isn’t making us happier?

I think about that a lot now.

How “more” always costs something—
peace, sleep, presence.

How every new thing becomes one more thing
to charge, clean, upgrade… or feel behind on.

Last year I caught my reflection in the microwave door—
phone in hand, scrolling Zillow,
looking for a bigger house…

to hold the things that already felt too heavy.

And I laughed.

Because there it was.

I wasn’t upgrading my life.

I was building storage for my overwhelm.

Maybe the answer isn’t to sell everything
and disappear into the woods.

Maybe it’s just noticing:

“Oh. I’m in the race.”

And then asking:

Do I want more things?

Or more time?

Because “bigger” isn’t always better.

It’s just heavier.

And the people I know who seem most at peace?

They’re not the ones still climbing.

They’re the ones quietly…

unpacking.

I’m not chasing perfect anymore.

I’m chasing presence.

Because perfection isn’t paradise.

It’s a prison…

with better landscaping.

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