Have you ever thought about how long the feeling of winning lasts?
Once you achieve everything you're after, how long will that feeling be there until you go back to your baseline of how you're feeling right now?
Last week, three of my coaching clients sent me the same video. It was arguably the greatest living pro golfer, Scottie Scheffler, at a press conference before the Open Championship, where he'd just won his first Claret Jug – his fourth major championship. The reporter asked him about celebrating his wins.
His answer was brutally honest.
"I think it's kind of funny... It feels like you work your whole life to celebrate winning a tournament for a few minutes. It only lasts a few minutes, the euphoric feeling."
He went on:
"You win, celebrate, hug my family... Such an amazing moment and then it's like what are we going to eat for dinner? Life goes on."
Two minutes. Maybe less.
So we're doing all this work – building companies, chasing exits, optimizing every metric – just to feel euphoric for a whole two minutes.
As depressing as that may sound…
This can actually lead you to awakening to a more accurate view of reality that is both freeing and brings radical clarity.
What stood out to me wasn't just Scheffler's honesty about winning. It was what he said next:
"I really do believe that because what is the point? Why do I want to win this tournament so bad?... I don't know because if I win it's going to be awesome for about two minutes and then the next week you won two majors, how important is it for you to win a third? We are back here again."
Here's the world's #1 golfer, at the peak of human performance, asking the same question many highly successful people wrestle with after their greatest achievements: What's the point of all this?
And while this may sound like depression talking. This is clarity instead.
For many people to deeply internalize what Scheffler articulated in that video, they have to experience achieving everything they could have ever imagined to see firsthand, and realize it's not what they thought it'd be...
Or they wake up to this fact through the recognition of our mortality.
If you've been on this planet any considerable time, chances are you've experienced some sort of loss, grief, or heartbreak.
When someone we know passes away, there's a strange feeling. The shock of receiving the news is like something being ripped out of you. Like a part of you is dying.
And for most people, one of the most shocking parts of having someone you know die isn’t just that they are gone, but in recognizing your own mortality; that you, too, will die someday.
You realize the absolute guarantee of death.
These experiences can really put things into perspective for what's really important in life.
We tend to spend our whole lives preparing. Preparing for what?
Preparing for the "rest of our lives."
We avoid confronting our mortality and project permanence, treating life as if it's some experience that's here for good.
So we spend all our time trying to set everything just right:
With just enough security…
With just enough importance, recognition, stability, control…
That's what the ego is – attempted permanence.
But when you confront the finite nature of your time in this world, many of the things that command your time and attention don't seem worth the investment.
The priorities clarify instantly.
You realize that there is no finish line. You’re never going to get “there.”
Just as Scottie Scheffler realized, the things that bring real meaning and fulfillment are those beyond the self.
In that same press conference, he said something that really stuck with me:
"I would much rather be a great father than I would be a great golfer. At the end of the day that's more important to me... If my golf started affecting my home life or whatever affected the relationship I have with my wife or my son, that's the last day I will play out here for a living."
Here's a man who could become the greatest golfer of all time, walking away from everything if it compromised what actually mattered.
Family is his priority. Not because golf doesn't matter, but because he's clear about what matters most.
I use what I call the Obituary Exercise with my clients. It's morbid, but transformational:
Imagine you've just died, and someone is writing your obituary. What do you want it to say? How would you most like to be remembered?
Sometimes, simply reflecting on your own mortality can catalyze a perspective shift. When you truly sit with this exercise, something shifts. Are you living your life for your resume, or your obituary?
One client told me after doing this: "I realized I've been optimizing for the wrong scoreboard my entire career."
Another founder was paralyzed by the fear of his company failing. Instead of trying to motivate him or strategize solutions, I asked him to imagine his funeral: "What would you want people to say about how you handled this challenging period?"
He went quiet for a long moment. Then: "That I faced it with courage. That I didn't let fear make my decisions."
Three weeks later, he made the hard pivot his company needed. Not because I convinced him the business would succeed, but because he realized the regret of not trying would be worse than the pain of potential failure.
Here's how to do it:
Spend ten minutes this week doing the Obituary Exercise. Imagine you've just died, and someone is writing your obituary. What do you want it to say? How would you most like to be remembered?
Then ask yourself: why aren't you already living this way?
Most of us are living like we have infinite time while optimizing for outcomes that provide minimal lasting satisfaction.
But once you accept your mortality, you can finally start living.
As Scottie Scheffler taught us, winning is temporary. The euphoria lasts two minutes. The rankings change. The show goes on.
But living authentically, with full awareness of your finite time here? That's available in every moment.
As Confucius said: "We have two lives, and the second begins when we realize we only have one."
With love,