The Diminishing Returns of Experience

The day I realized I had everything was the day I felt I had nothing.

I've tasted both the sweetness of privilege and the bitterness of struggle. Neither prepared me for the emptiness of having it all.

I grew up privileged, then lost everything. For a decade, my family struggled. I used to dream of a full fridge. Now, I dream of feeling hungry for life again.

I remember one day, my sister asked me why we suddenly had so much more food in the fridge. It was when I started making money.

In my younger years, my main focus was making money to feed my mom and sister. They gave up so much for me to have the opportunity to grow up in a first-world country. Until my mid-20s, I didn't have the time or means to experience life.

Afternoon tea at The Ritz London: In my opinion, still the best afternoon tea I have ever experienced.

I remember the first time I gave my mother all my money from my first paycheck.

I remember the first time I got on a plane for pleasure, marveling at the clouds beneath me.

I remember the first time I tried a tasting menu, each bite a new adventure.

The moment I bought my first designer bag still lingers in my mind.

And I'll never forget when I first bought things without worrying about the price tag.

Today, these experiences have lost their luster. Travel doesn't excite me anymore; it's become routine. I board a plane every 2-3 weeks to a new city, barely noticing the change in scenery.

Michelin-starred restaurants no longer impress. The perfectly plated dishes are good, but rarely great.

Even at the world's top bars, finding a truly impressive craft cocktail seems nearly impossible.

High-quality clothes are no longer a luxury, but simply my everyday attire.

Italy - still the most enchanting country I have ever had the pleasure of visiting. Every year I find myself returning to it.

As I reflect on this shift in my perceptions, I realize it's not unique to me. As we age and accumulate experiences, things that once thrilled us often lose their impact. It's as if we've built up a tolerance to life's pleasures. What was once extraordinary becomes merely good, and truly great experiences become increasingly rare.

This is what we could call "the curse of having lived" - a gradual desensitization to life's pleasures as our experiences accumulate.

The more we experience, the higher our standards become, and the harder it is for new experiences to measure up to our past ones.

This phenomenon isn't limited to material pleasures. It extends to emotional experiences, professional achievements, and personal relationships. The butterflies of a first love, the pride of a first job, or the warmth of a new friendship - all these can become muted as we compare them to our past experiences.

CRAVAN - a cocktail bar I adore in the 6th arrondissement of Paris

However, this "curse" doesn't have to be entirely negative.

Maybe it's pushing me to look deeper, to find meaning in the small things I might have overlooked before. Maybe it's encouraging me to share what I've learned with others, to find joy in their first-time experiences. Perhaps it's even motivating me to push my boundaries, to seek out new challenges that can rekindle that sense of wonder.

I'm learning that the key might be in finding a balance. How can I use everything I've learned and experienced, but still keep an open mind? How can I find joy not just in new things, but in understanding things more deeply?

Someone once asked me when I was the happiest in my life. I answered:

When I was young and innocent.

When everything was new.

When the smallest thing could make me excited.

Before the curse of having lived.

As I continue on my journey, I wonder if I can recapture some of that childlike wonder, even with all I've experienced.

Perhaps the true privilege is not in having it all, but in maintaining the ability to appreciate it all.

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Question of the day: What was the last thing that truly amazed or excited you? Why do you think it had such an impact?

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