For the last two months, my life has been a total whirlwind of peak experiences.
Since the end of January, I’ve traveled to Baldface Lodge, Austin, Cabo, Silvertip Lodge (for my second backcountry snowboarding trip), sailed a catamaran in the BVIs, and, this week, Kelly Slater’s Surf Ranch. I was only home for five days in February.
And I’m over it.
It’s a ridiculous thing to say, I know.
On paper, this is the dream life I’ve always imagined. Complete freedom. Unforgettable experiences. Connections with incredible humans around the globe.
So why is the feeling so… empty?
As I boarded my flight home, all I could think about was my own bed, my morning routine, and the comfort of my home. I felt almost guilty for wanting to trade perfect waves for spreadsheets and Zoom calls. Isn’t this endless stream of peak experiences what I’ve worked so hard to create?
As I’ve been enjoying cuddling my cat and unwinding this weekend, I realized I’ve been living a paradox that nobody talks about on Instagram: too much of a good thing is still too much.
It’s kind of like eating ice cream for every meal. Every kid’s dream, certainly. But after a while, the ice cream stops being enjoyable. What starts as a treat becomes mundane.
The same principle applies to peak experiences.
When the extraordinary becomes ordinary, it stops being extraordinary.
Now, let me be clear: I am incredibly grateful for the immense privilege of choice that I’ve created for myself. I recognize that this message could come across as tone-deaf and out of touch. That isn’t my intention at all.
This season, while incredible, has served as an important reminder of a truth I’ve known but perhaps started to forget.
What makes a great song isn’t just the notes – it’s the space between them. We need contrast to experience richness. A life without contrast becomes numbing, regardless of how objectively amazing each moment might be.
This concept is known in psychology as hedonic adaptation. Humans quickly adapt to new pleasures or circumstances. As a result, even consistently high-quality experiences lose their novelty when they become the norm.
This is why the concept of multidimensional wealth is so crucial. We tend to think that once we achieve financial freedom, we’ll immediately level up in every other area of life. But the truth is more nuanced. Financial wealth provides options, but those options need to be wielded with intention if they’re going to serve our deeper purpose.
I call this phenomenon the Freedom Paradox.
When you have total freedom, the absence of constraints can actually create a new form of prison. Without boundaries, without rhythm, without the natural constraints that gave our days structure, we can find ourselves adrift.
In Man’s Search for Meaning, Viktor Frankl beautifully articulates the profound insight that humans don’t primarily seek pleasure – we seek meaning. And meaning often comes from the juxtaposition of experiences, not from a constant high.
This is why many founders feel oddly empty after an exit. The routine they once complained about also gave their lives structure, purpose, and contrast. When it suddenly vanishes, replaced by unlimited freedom, they find themselves asking, “Now what?”
The answer lies in creating intentional rhythms.
For me, this means deep work cycles followed by intentional recovery and play. It means valuing my morning routine as much as the exotic destinations on my Big Ass Calendar. It means recognizing that my capacity to enjoy peak experiences is directly proportional to the quality of my ordinary days.
I’ve come to learn that I am, at my core, a creator. I am happiest and most aligned when I am writing, speaking, and coaching.
There’s a beautiful Japanese concept called “ma” – the space between things. It represents the idea that emptiness is not nothing; it’s a powerful something. The pause between musical notes. The negative space in a painting. The silence between words.
In our lives, these spaces – the quiet mornings, the routine workdays, the evenings at home – aren’t just fillers between adventures. They’re essential components of a life well lived. They’re the spaces where integration happens, where meaning takes root, where we metabolize our experiences into wisdom.
This doesn’t mean we should stop pursuing extraordinary experiences. Far from it. It means we should honor them by giving ourselves the space to fully absorb them, to let them change us, before rushing to the next peak.
Here’s the reality – for the past two months, I over-indexed for fun.
And the beautiful thing? It’s totally ok.
When we drift from alignment, we can count on the universe to give us pointing out instructions.
My recent experience is a “problem of privilege” that many successful people face but feel guilty discussing. I have two options: I can wallow in shame and beat myself up for being ungrateful, or I can simply notice, with grace, that I have an opportunity to course correct.
So if you find yourself in a “peak experience hangover” – that strange emptiness that can follow a string of objectively amazing experiences – know that you’re not broken or ungrateful. You’re just human, wired for contrast and meaning rather than constant stimulation.
The truly wealthy life isn’t about maximizing peak experiences. It’s about crafting the right rhythm between expansion and contraction, between adventure and groundedness, between extraordinary and ordinary.
Because in that rhythm, we get to live life at a deeper level, one that seamlessly blends experience with purpose.
In contrast, we find meaning.
To finding your rhythm,
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