There are two types of people in this world: those who buy a reasonable amount of toilet paper, and those who buy so much Charmin during a sale that they could wipe the collective backside of a small country for a decade. Guess which group thinks “more is never enough”?
We live in a society where every commercial, every influencer, and every dead-eyed motivational speaker in a $4,000 hoodie is whispering sweet nothings into our ears: “You deserve more. Demand more. Manifest more. Achieve more.” Oh, and don't forget to buy their course for $999 or their limited-edition water bottle blessed by the algorithm gods. Because clearly, your self-worth is directly proportional to how full your cart is and how fast your credit score is diving into the abyss.
Let’s talk about why we are all chronically dissatisfied, despite drowning in options, overfed on choices, and stimulated into oblivion. Spoiler alert: it's not because you haven’t upgraded your iPhone.
The Myth of More™
The Cult of More sells a fantasy so intoxicating it could put Disney to shame. The idea is simple: if you're not happy, it's because you haven't yet reached the next level. Buy the next thing. Hit the next goal. Climb the next ladder rung—even if the ladder is duct-taped to a collapsing house made of resentment and imposter syndrome.
Got a decent car? Not enough. You need a car with LED lighting in the cupholders and a trunk that opens with your mind.
Got a promotion? Cool. But Becky from LinkedIn just became “Senior Global Synergist of Purpose Alignment” and posted a photo of her inspirational walk through Machu Picchu, barefoot, to stay grounded. So what are you doing with your life?
The sickness is subtle. It dresses itself in productivity porn and self-help memes like “Don’t settle for less when you can hustle for more,” as if burnout and adrenal fatigue are trendy lifestyle choices.
More is the god we worship, and its altar is your Amazon account.
Capitalism's Favorite Addiction
You might think this is just human nature. It's not. It’s curated, manufactured craving. It’s not an accident that you feel like crap until your cart has a pair of wireless earbuds, a probiotic subscription, and an overpriced minimalist lamp made by ethically-sourced monks in Norway.
Corporations spend billions engineering dissatisfaction. You don’t have body dysmorphia—you just accidentally saw a Victoria’s Secret ad sandwiched between two TikToks that convinced you your eyebrows aren't “on-trend.” And now, guess what? You’re buying an LED brow stencil.
Why do cereal boxes always say “Now with EVEN MORE marshmallows”? Because the kid in all of us believes that more means better, and better means fulfilled. It’s the same logic that fuels Costco shopping trips where people leave with a 7-pound tub of Nutella and no memory of how it happened.
Meanwhile, Jeff Bezos is probably on Mars trying to figure out if intergalactic delivery counts as Prime.
The Self-Help Industrial Complex
In the realm of “never enough,” the self-help industry deserves its own snarky subsection. The premise is that you're a broken, half-baked muffin of a human being—but don’t worry! With enough guided journaling, cold plunges, gratitude lists, and $3,000 retreats to Sedona, you’ll finally reach “abundance consciousness.”
Translation: you’ll be too busy meditating and biohacking to notice that the hamster wheel you’re on now has Wi-Fi.
This isn’t about growth. It’s about monetized inadequacy.
Every book is titled some version of “How to Be a Better You by Tuesday” with 17 steps, all of which involve sacrificing sleep and quitting sugar. You’ll “level up,” sure. But eventually you’ll run out of levels and realize you’ve just been grinding XP in a game no one is even playing anymore.
Minimalism, but Make It Maximalist
Ah yes, the counter-movement. “Declutter your life,” they say. “Live simply.” Right before they sell you a $150 white t-shirt from a Scandinavian label that uses ethical thread harvested by monks who whisper affirmations into every fiber.
Minimalism has become maximalism in disguise. It’s not about owning less; it’s about owning the right kind of less—less with status, less with aesthetics, less that comes in limited editions.
Even the simple life has become a performance. You’re no longer just taking a walk—you’re “forest bathing.” You’re not just eating dinner—you’re doing intuitive eating with ancestral grains. You’re not broke—you’re practicing voluntary simplicity. There’s a whole new market for people trying to buy their way into spiritual contentment.
Let that sink in: people are now stressed out about how to relax better.
The Achievement Treadmill
Remember how excited you were the first time you got 100 likes on a photo? Now you need 1,000 just to feel vaguely okay. Welcome to the dopamine treadmill, where every hit feels smaller and the highs last shorter.
We chase goals like they’re Pokémon. Catch one, get a trophy, post about it, feel hollow, and move on to the next. The joy of arrival lasts as long as it takes someone else to one-up you.
That marathon you ran? Cool. Someone else did an Ironman while pushing a stroller.
Your child learned to read? Adorable. Becky’s kid is fluent in Mandarin and violin.
You finally paid off your student loans? Fantastic. Chad just bought a lake house with Dogecoin profits and named it “Compound Interest.”
Even when we “win,” we feel like losers. And yet we keep running, hoping that this time the prize will be real.
Social Media: Gasoline on the Fire
Instagram is the high priest of the Church of Not Enough. It’s not just a highlight reel—it’s a curated museum of curated experiences curated for maximum inadequacy.
There’s a reason nobody posts pictures of their mental breakdown at 2 a.m. eating cold quesadillas over the sink while doom-scrolling Zillow listings. No one brags about barely hanging on.
Instead, it’s filtered abs, #blessed families in coordinated pajamas, and ambitious captions like: “Crushed my goals today! Meditated, meal-prepped, and launched my side hustle. How’s your energy?”
Here’s a fun truth: the more people post about how fulfilled they are, the more likely they’re two Xanax deep into a quarter-life spiral. But we don’t see that. We just see the yacht.
The Infinite Appetite for More
The human brain didn’t evolve to be content. It evolved to survive. “Satisfied” wasn’t a good look on the savannah. If you were chill and grateful, you probably got eaten by something with teeth.
That ancient wiring means we’re always scanning for threats—and in modern life, threats look like not being good enough, not being rich enough, not being productive enough. The tiger is now a metaphorical LinkedIn notification.
Contentment feels like stagnation. Satisfaction feels like laziness. Enough feels like giving up. And so we never stop.
More followers, more likes, more “engagement.” More money, more attention, more... something. Anything.
But here’s the punchline: no one even knows what the “more” is for. We just chase it because it’s there.
What We Actually Want (But Won’t Admit)
Let’s get brutally honest. We don’t want “more” because we actually need more. We want it because we believe it’ll change how we feel about ourselves.
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We don’t want the Tesla—we want to feel accomplished.
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We don’t want the six-pack—we want to feel desirable.
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We don’t want the vacation—we want to feel free.
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We don’t want more followers—we want to feel seen.
But rather than deal with our self-worth issues head-on, we outsource them to retail therapy, digital trophies, and status games we never agreed to play. We collect stuff and status the way magpies hoard shiny things—because maybe, just maybe, if we have enough shiny things, we’ll finally feel whole.
Spoiler: we won’t.
The Radical Idea of “Enough”
Here’s a thought so radical it might be illegal in some states: What if you are already enough?
No, not in a Pinterest-quote, soft-focus way. But in a practical, real-world, “you don’t have to ruin yourself to prove your value” way.
What if your house doesn’t need to be renovated every 6 months?
What if your body is allowed to age without you funneling your retirement into serums made from snail mucus?
What if your job doesn’t need to be your purpose, your brand, your identity, and your soulmate all wrapped into one capitalist fever dream?
What if being okay is actually... okay?
It’s not sexy. It doesn’t sell. There’s no TED Talk for “I quit chasing validation and took a nap.” But it might just save your sanity.
How to Tell If You’re Addicted to More
Let’s do a quick diagnostic. Answer honestly.
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Do you refresh your bank app for fun?
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Do you scroll Zillow for homes you’ll never afford?
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Do you open your phone and forget why?
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Do you compare your current life to a fake version you invented at 17?
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Do you secretly resent people who seem “content”?
If yes, congratulations: you’re part of the club. Dues are payable in FOMO and late-night Amazon orders.
Final Thoughts (Before You Buy Something To Feel Better)
You’re not broken because you want more. You’re human. But the trick is knowing when your hunger is driven by growth—and when it’s driven by fear, comparison, or a marketing campaign wearing yoga pants.
More can be great. More compassion, more laughter, more justice? Bring it on.
But more stuff, more flexes, more hustle, more burnout, more plastic purpose? Hard pass.
So maybe next time the algorithm whispers “you need this,” you can whisper back: “Nah, I’m good.”
Because sometimes the most rebellious thing you can do is simply say, “I have enough. I am enough. And I’m going to bed.”
With cold quesadillas. And no regrets.