Somewhere Along the Way, We Lost Depth

You Start to Notice It Everywhere

You can’t unsee it once it clicks.

You scroll through social media and it’s the same highlight reel: designer bags, luxury holidays, flashy cars, “soft life” aesthetics funded by credit cards and quiet anxiety. You catch yourself comparing—Am I behind? Should I be doing more? Earning more? Looking richer? And that’s when it hits you: somewhere along the line, money stopped being a tool and started becoming a personality.

You notice how quickly people ask, “What do you do?” and how slowly they ask, “How are you, really?”

You notice how admiration now comes with conditions—how useful you are, how successful you look, how much value you can offer on paper.

And you start wondering when depth became inconvenient.

Relationships Feel More Like Transactions

You feel it in conversations. The subtle measuring. The quiet flexing. The way people listen just long enough to talk about themselves again.

You realise some people don’t actually want connection—they want proximity to success. They want networking disguised as friendship. They want to know what you can do for them before they care about who you are.

You’ve seen people drift away when you’re struggling. You’ve seen enthusiasm drop when you’re not “useful.” You’ve felt the awkward pause when you admit you’re tired instead of thriving.

And deep down, you know: if you weren’t producing, earning, or impressing, some of these connections wouldn’t survive.

That’s a heavy thing to carry, even when no one says it out loud.

Even Worth Has a Price Tag Now

You’re taught—quietly, constantly—that your worth is tied to your output.

If you’re busy, you’re important.

If you’re rich, you’re respected.

If you’re struggling, you’re invisible.

Rest looks lazy. Simplicity looks like failure. Contentment looks suspicious.

You start apologising for not wanting more. You feel strange saying you’re happy with “enough.” You feel pressure to upgrade everything—your phone, your lifestyle, your dreams—just to stay relevant.

And the wild part? Half the people chasing “more” don’t even know what they’re running from.

Shallow Doesn’t Mean Evil—Just Lost

Here’s the thing you don’t say enough: most people aren’t shallow because they’re bad. They’re shallow because they’re scared.

Scared of being ordinary.

Scared of being left behind.

Scared of slowing down and realising they don’t actually like the life they’re chasing.

So they cling to money. Status. Aesthetic success. It’s easier to count numbers than sit with emotions. It’s easier to buy things than face emptiness.

Depth requires time. Stillness. Vulnerability. And those don’t trend well.

You Crave Something Real (Even If You Don’t Say It)

You don’t want a life that looks rich and feels empty.

You want conversations that don’t revolve around money, but meaning. You want friendships that don’t disappear when things get hard. You want to be valued for your kindness, your loyalty, your presence—not your productivity.

You want to laugh without checking your phone. You want to be honest without feeling like you’re “falling behind.” You want to live, not perform.

And maybe that makes you feel a little out of place lately.

So You Start Choosing Differently

You begin to notice who stays when there’s nothing to gain.

You start appreciating people who listen without waiting to speak.

You stop chasing approval from people who only respect numbers.

You learn that depth is rare—and that’s why it’s valuable.

You realise money matters, yes. Stability matters. Security matters. But when money becomes the only measure, everything else starts to rot: empathy, patience, love, community.

And you quietly decide you don’t want to rot with it.

A Quiet Reminder You Share With Friends

You tell your friends this—not dramatically, not bitterly—but honestly:

It’s okay to want more, but don’t let it cost you your soul.

It’s okay to chase success, but not at the expense of compassion.

It’s okay to step off the hamster wheel and choose depth in a shallow world.

Because long after the flexes fade and the numbers change, what lasts is how you treated people—and how deeply you lived.

And if that makes you “different” nowadays?

Good.