The day I signed the purchase agreement to sell my company - the one that started with a dream and a "duct-tape and bubble gum" prototype in my garage - should have been one of the most exciting days of my life.

It wasn't.

No champagne. No celebration. No cameras or grand finale. Just my wife and I trying to figure out where to go for dinner. We ended up at Applebee's. Not because it meant something, just because it was close, and it was open. We didn't even get the good booth.

Now, don't get me wrong. I was grateful. The deal changed everything. It secured my family's future, rewarded the team that believed in this crazy idea, and brought a decade of hard work full circle.

But emotionally? I felt… nothing. No excitement. No pride. No real sense of accomplishment. It was just Tuesday night at Applebee's.

The Problem with High Expectations

Looking back, I think I know why.

From the very beginning, I expected this outcome. Not hoped for. Expected. Anything less than a win of that magnitude would have felt like failure. Starting the company with nothing but an idea and selling it in a way that took care of my people? That was the only ending I would accept. So when it finally happened, I didn't celebrate. I just checked the box and moved on.

And that's what happens when you're wired like I am. When you set big goals, work like crazy to achieve them, and carry the pressure of making it all count. Success starts to feel less like an achievement and more like an obligation.

It's not healthy. But it's common.

The Curse of Competence

There's a name for this, by the way. Psychologists refer to it as "the curse of competence." It shows up in people who are capable, driven, and constantly raising the bar on themselves. These are the people who get A's and are disappointed because they didn't get A pluses—the people who finish the race and immediately look for a longer, tougher one.

When you're high-performing, you stop giving yourself permission to celebrate, because success is what you're supposed to do. You don't feel proud, you just feel pressure to do it again. Bigger. Faster. Better. And eventually, it wears you down. Not in a dramatic crash-and-burn kind of way. It's slower than that. A subtle erosion. One win at a time.

Learn to Feel the Win

I don't have a perfect answer for this yet. I'm still learning how to sit in the moment. To feel the win. To let myself enjoy what I've built instead of constantly reaching for whatever comes next. But here's what I do know:

If you don't find a way to celebrate your success, it will stop feeling like success.

If you're someone who lives in the fast lane, who expects a lot from yourself, who pushes for more even when you've already done a lot, slow down for five minutes. Take a breath. Write it down. Say it out loud. Tell someone what you're proud of. Not what's next - what's now. Do it even if it feels awkward - even if you're already halfway into the next thing - even if you're sitting in a sticky booth at Applebee's.

Because if success doesn't make you feel something, then what are you working for?