How To Be Successful

A rational guide for anyone who actually wants to do the work.

---

Success usually announces itself at the end, not at the beginning.

From the outside, it looks obvious - numbers go up, names become familiar, opportunities stack neatly on top of each other. But when you look closely at the lives of people who’ve built something lasting, especially artists, the early years don’t look dramatic at all. They look repetitive. Quiet. Sometimes lonely. Often uncertain.

Real success rarely starts with clarity. It starts with a decision to keep working even when clarity hasn’t arrived yet.

This piece isn’t about shortcuts or motivation. It’s about how success actually forms over time—through systems, patience, and small decisions that point in the same direction long enough to matter. It’s written for artists, but the ideas apply to anyone trying to do meaningful work in the real world.

You don’t need to read this quickly. In fact, it works better if you don’t.

This essay is informed in part by Sam Altman’s reflections on success, alongside research in psychology and lessons drawn from long-term creative practice.

---

1 │ Wanting is not doing

Almost everyone wants to be successful. That’s not the differentiator.

What separates people who make progress from those who stay stuck isn’t desire, or even ambition—it’s whether wanting ever turns into something concrete. Psychology has a name for this disconnect: the intention–behaviour gap. People form sincere intentions all the time and still fail to act, not because they’re lazy or incapable, but because intentions alone don’t survive friction.

Wanting success feels active. It feels like movement. But wanting doesn’t tell you what to do on a Tuesday evening when you’re tired and unsure. Systems do.

For an artist, “I want to make more music” is emotionally honest but operationally useless. It doesn’t specify when, how long, or under what constraints. A system does. A system removes negotiation. It quietly answers the question before it arises.

This is why so many talented people stay stalled. They keep revisiting the wanting phase, hoping it will one day turn into momentum. It rarely does.

When work is embedded into your life—scheduled, scoped, and limited—it stops depending on mood. And once work happens consistently, skill has somewhere to grow.

2 │ Competition is information, not a verdict

Competition tends to trigger one of two reactions: paralysis or obsession. Neither is helpful.

What competition actually offers, if you let it, is information. It shows you what’s possible, what’s valued, and which skills are being rewarded right now. The danger is treating comparison as a judgement of your worth instead of a diagnostic tool.

Research on learning-oriented mindsets consistently shows that people who approach performance with curiosity rather than self-evaluation persist longer and improve more reliably. They’re less interested in where they stand and more interested in what they can learn next.

For artists, this shift is subtle but powerful. Instead of asking, “Why are they ahead of me?” you ask, “What specific decision did they make that I haven’t practiced yet?” The question turns envy into education.

Progress accelerates when competition stops being emotional and starts being analytical. Comfort might protect your ego, but it rarely sharpens your craft.

3 │ Success changes depending on where you are

One reason advice often feels hollow is that it assumes everyone is standing in the same place.

They’re not.

Success at the beginning of a creative journey looks very different from success a few years in, and radically different from success once you’re established. Ignoring this leads to unnecessary frustration. People chase outcomes that don’t make sense for their current phase and then wonder why nothing feels satisfying.

Early on, success is simple and unglamorous: finishing. Shipping work teaches you faster than thinking ever will. If nothing leaves your hard drive, there’s nothing to respond to, refine, or learn from.

Later, success becomes about judgment. Taste improves. You start seeing what matters and what doesn’t. Leverage enters the picture, where effort creates disproportionate results.

Eventually, success becomes about sustainability. Energy management replaces output. Choosing what not to do becomes as important as choosing what to do.

Many people feel stuck not because they’re failing, but because they’re measuring themselves against the wrong definition of success. Clarity comes from aligning your goals with the phase you’re actually in, not the one you wish you were in.

4 │ A question better than "how to be successful?"

There’s a question that quietly reveals a lot, though most people avoid it:

What would I be doing if this weren’t an option?

Not as an escape fantasy, but as a serious thought experiment. And then, just as importantly: would I expect to be good at that without years of deliberate practice?

The purpose of this question isn’t to push you away from your current path. It’s to examine whether your expectations are realistic and whether you’re willing to live inside the process long enough for results to emerge.

Many people love the idea of success more than the daily experience required to earn it. There’s no shame in that but pretending otherwise creates friction that shows up as burnout, resentment, or self-doubt.

Clarity doesn’t arrive before action. It forms after repeated engagement. The work reveals whether the path is tolerable, meaningful, and worth continuing.

5 │ Goals give direction; systems create inevitability

Goals are useful. They point you somewhere. But they’re fragile.

A goal exists in the future. A system exists today.

When progress relies on motivation, it becomes erratic. When it relies on structure, it becomes predictable. This is why people who build simple, repeatable systems often outperform those with more ambitious goals but weaker processes.

For artists, systems are particularly important because creative energy fluctuates. A system doesn’t care how inspired you feel. It only cares whether you showed up.

Finishing regularly even imperfectly creates a body of work. That body of work becomes raw material. And raw material is what excellence grows out of.

You don’t need a perfect plan. You need a process that runs even when confidence dips.

6 │ Growth comes from practice, not optimism

A growth mindset is often misunderstood as blind positivity. It isn’t.

At its core, it’s the belief that skill is shaped through effort, feedback, and adjustment—not fixed traits or talent alone. This belief changes how you respond to failure. Instead of treating it as evidence that you’re not cut out for the work, you treat it as information about what needs refinement.

This is especially important in creative fields, where feedback can feel personal and outcomes are public. People who last aren’t those who avoid failure—they’re the ones who metabolize it quickly.

Practice becomes intentional when it’s focused. One skill at a time. One variable adjusted. One insight carried forward. Over time, this creates quiet confidence—not because you feel certain, but because you trust your ability to improve.

Failure stops being an identity threat and becomes a design problem.

7 │ Reflection is useful only when it leads back to action

Thinking about your work is important. Thinking instead of doing the work is not.

Many artists get stuck in an in-between state where they are always planning, refining, reconsidering, or waiting for the right insight before moving forward. It feels responsible. It feels thoughtful. But over time, it quietly replaces momentum.

Research on learning and performance shows that reflection works best when it is brief, structured, and directly tied to action. The purpose of reflection is not to sound intelligent to yourself but to reduce repetition of the same mistakes and to sharpen the next attempt.

A small habit makes a big difference here: after finishing something - whether it’s a song, a release, or a performance, write down what actually happened. Not what you hoped would happen, not what it “means,” just what worked, what didn’t, and what you’ll change next time.

Artists who document their process don’t become rigid. They become efficient. They stop relearning lessons they already paid for.

8 │ Discipline doesn’t kill authenticity (it protects it)

There’s a persistent myth that structure makes art mechanical and routine makes work soulless. In reality, the opposite is usually true.

Without discipline, creative energy gets scattered. Good ideas arrive but aren’t finished. Strong instincts appear but aren’t preserved long enough to become something others can experience. Discipline isn’t about forcing creativity—it’s about creating conditions where it has a chance to survive.

Many respected creators talk about this not in business terms, but in human ones: regular time, minimal distractions, physical care, and rituals that signal to the mind that it’s time to work. These are not constraints on expression. They’re safeguards.

Authenticity is fragile early on. It needs protection from interruption, from overexposure, from the pressure to perform before it’s ready. Structure gives it that protection.

9 │ Excellence is ordinary before it’s visible

When you zoom out, excellence looks rare. When you zoom in, it looks repetitive.

Across fields—music, writing, athletics, craftsmanship—the pattern is the same. Long periods of unremarkable effort precede moments of visible success. The work that eventually gets praised usually wasn’t exciting when it was being practiced.

Research on perseverance consistently shows that sustained effort toward long-term goals predicts achievement more reliably than early indicators of talent. This isn’t romantic. It’s mechanical. Effort compounds when applied consistently to the right fundamentals.

This matters because many people quit not when they’re failing, but when progress feels boring. They mistake the ordinariness of practice for a lack of potential.

Excellence rarely announces itself while it’s being built. It asks you to trust the process longer than feels comfortable.

10 │ Values quietly shape outcomes over time

Talent can open doors. Values determine what happens after.

The way you treat collaborators, how you respond under pressure, whether you follow through on small commitments, these things accumulate into reputation. Not the kind you can manufacture, but the kind people remember when opportunities arise.

Psychological research on identity-aligned behavior shows that people who act in ways consistent with their values experience greater resilience and less burnout. This isn’t moral advice—it’s practical. When your actions match what you believe, friction decreases.

The key is translation. Values matter only when they show up as behavior. Caring about listeners becomes replying thoughtfully. Integrity becomes clarity about terms. Curiosity becomes sustained learning.

Over time, these choices shape the kind of career you’re able to sustain.

11 │ Communication and courage create leverage

Many artists underestimate how much their work depends on being understood.

You can make something beautiful and still struggle if you can’t explain what it is, why it exists, or who it’s for. This isn’t about marketing tricks. It’s about clarity. People support what they can grasp.

Equally important is calibrated risk—the willingness to take small, thoughtful chances that test assumptions rather than protect comfort. Progress often comes not from massive leaps, but from a series of contained experiments.

Being able to explain your work clearly and being willing to test it in the world creates leverage. The same effort travels farther.

12 │ Fans compound; attention doesn’t

Attention is fleeting. Relationships are durable.

Streams, likes, and views are signals, but they’re not foundations. A sustainable creative life depends on building direct connections with people who care enough to return, respond, and support.

This doesn’t require scale. It requires sincerity. Early supporters don’t want to be treated like metrics. They want to feel seen, included, and valued.

Offering something meaningful—context, access, stories, early work—and asking for a small commitment in return creates reciprocity. Over time, this shifts your work from being passively consumed to actively supported.

This is how careers become resilient rather than reactive.

13 │ A twelve-week rhythm that respects reality

Long horizons are built from short cycles.

A twelve-week window is long enough to see change and short enough to sustain focus. Instead of trying to “fix everything,” choose one system and run it consistently.

In the first phase, the goal is stability—showing up at fixed times and building the habit of completion. In the second, feedback enters the picture—not from everyone, but from a small, trusted circle. In the final phase, the work meets the world through a focused offering.

Reflection stays light but regular. Documentation stays simple. The aim isn’t perfection—it’s continuity.

Small rhythms, repeated, create momentum that grand plans rarely do.

14 │ Questions worth revisiting

Occasionally, it helps to stop and ask better questions—not to doubt yourself, but to recalibrate.

What did I practice consistently?What evidence shows I improved?Where did friction come from, and can it be reduced?Who supported me, and how can I respond with care?

These questions don’t demand dramatic answers. Over time, they produce quiet clarity.

A personal playbook built from lived experience is worth more than generic advice.

Final thought

Success isn’t a moment. It’s a direction.

It’s the cumulative effect of small decisions made repeatedly—often without applause, often without certainty. When those decisions align with your values, your systems, and your phase of life, progress becomes less dramatic but more reliable.

If there’s one thing to take from this, let it be this: choose a process you can live with, not an outcome you’re chasing. Protect it. Run it long enough to see what it becomes.

When artists stop asking “Am I successful yet?” and start asking “Did I show up the way I said I would?” something important shifts.

Acknowledgement

This piece was partly inspired by Sam Altman’s essay How to Be Successful, which explores compounding, leverage, and long-term thinking. While the perspective here is adapted for artists and creative work, his framework meaningfully influenced the structure of this essay.

---

Suggested Reading (For Deeper Thinking)

On Creative Work & Process

Rick Rubin — The Creative Act: A Way of Being

A quiet, grounded exploration of creativity as a practice rather than a performance. Especially relevant for artists learning to build conditions for great work, not chase outcomes.

Austin Kleon — Show Your Work

A practical reminder that creative careers grow through consistent output, sharing, and presence—not secrecy or perfection.

On Action, Choice & Building Clarity

Derek Sivers — Anything You Want

A short, direct book about clarity emerging from action. Useful for artists stuck in perpetual planning or self-doubt.

James Clear — Atomic Habits

A practical framework for understanding how small, repeatable behaviors compound into large outcomes over time.

On Meaning, Values & Long-Term Thinking

Simon Sinek — Start With Why

A widely cited exploration of how purpose and values sustain long-term effort, especially when motivation fluctuates.

Viktor E. Frankl — Man’s Search for Meaning

A profound perspective on meaning, responsibility, and choice under pressure. Especially relevant for artists navigating uncertainty.

On Excellence, Growth & Learning

Angela Duckworth — Grit: The Power of Passion and Perseverance

Backed by peer-reviewed research on long-term achievement across domains.

Adam Grant — Think Again

A modern guide to learning, unlearning, and using feedback and competition as tools for growth.

On Work, Craft & Professionalism

Cal Newport — Deep Work

A strong argument for focus, craft, and intentional effort in a distracted world—highly applicable to creative practice.

These aren’t books about overnight success. They’re about building the internal structure required to do meaningful work over time.