On the silence that often follows applause

I remember evenings in my corporate years when success came dressed in applause. A promotion announced in front of colleagues. A project delivered ahead of deadline. An award handed under bright lights. From the outside, it looked complete — the dream stitched together.

But I also remember what happened after the lights dimmed. The drive back home in silence. Then late-night dinner eaten alone in the hotel room. The phone that stayed still, except for a polite congratulatory message or two. I often wondered why what felt so celebrated in the conference room felt so hollow in my own living room.

That is when I began to understand a truth no one tells you: success creates distance. The higher we climb, the fewer people stand alongside us. Some step back in quiet envy. Some feel they cannot relate anymore. And sometimes, it is we who retreat behind an armour, unwilling to appear vulnerable after being so publicly polished.

The paradox is striking: you become more visible, but less seen. People know your title, your achievements, your milestones — but fewer know your doubts, your late-night anxieties, or the childlike joy you still feel when something small goes right.

For me, the weight was not in the work itself, but in the isolation it brought. Success demanded that I look picture-perfect, even when inside I longed for conversations where I could be just human. Over time, I realised that the antidote was not chasing more applause, but building quieter, truer connections. Friends who could see me beyond the designation. Family moments that were immune to performance. Mentors and companions who were unafraid to ask, “How are you really?”

If you, too, have felt the quiet emptiness behind your own successes, know this: you are not failing. This is the natural shadow that achievement casts. But shadows do not define the sun.

The next time success visits you, pause. Celebrate it — but also guard space for the relationships that let you be unmasked, uncelebrated, and still deeply seen. Because in the end, it is not the applause that stays with us. It is the rare company where silence feels like home.

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Letters for the Inner Journey by Pushkar

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