Sanjeev was just like any other ambitious young man who entered the corporate world with dreams bigger than the glass buildings he admired. Fresh formal shirt, crisp tie, a laptop bag with hopes, and a mind full of confidence—he believed this was the beginning of a life and success which everyone would envy.
And yes, in the beginning, everyone did.
Sanjeev’s first five years felt like a fast elevator ride straight up. Promotions came early, appreciation flowed in his inbox every quarter, and his parents proudly told relatives, “Our son works in one of the biggest firms.” He was his office favorite, known for solving problems, handling pressure, and smiling even when deadlines chased like storms. He was one satisfied soul.
But success, like everything else, asks for something in return.
Slowly, Sanjeev started working late nights. Messages from friends stopped coming because he was “always busy.” Weekend dinners with his family became rare. Sleep reduced, but targets didn’t. He became the man who reached office before sunrise and left after midnight. Colleagues admired him, but they also feared becoming him. At the back they started discussing him, instead making fun of him.
One day, after yet another 14-hour shift, Sanjeev stared at the empty office floor. Everyone had left. Even the cleaning staff. Only the flickering lights and his exhausted heartbeat stayed with him. He had achieved what he wanted, but lost everything he never realized he needed.
His life was a graph that kept rising until one day it suddenly stopped.
No breakdown, no drama, just silence.
His body gave the first signal—constant headaches, stress tremors, sleepless nights, forgetfulness. His doctor simply said, “You need rest, not another promotion.”
But rest was something Sanjeev was never ready to take.
Then came the day when everything collapsed—his company went through restructuring, and the email arrived: “Thank you for your service. Your role has been discontinued.”
No warning. No fault. Just a line.
That moment, the successful corporate star sat alone in his apartment, not knowing whether to cry, break, or simply accept.
For the first time in years, he had time—but no identity, no one around
Days passed, and in his confused silence, he found something he had forgotten: words. Writing. Expression. Shadowed notebooks from college, poems he once wrote, and stories he never finished—all came back like old friends who were waiting quietly.
Sanjeev started writing again.
At first, just to escape. Then to express. Then to survive.
He opened a blog—not expecting fame, not expecting money, just wanting to breathe in words, just wanted a space to express what he is feeling. He wrote about deadlines, office politics, fake smiles near coffee machines, the loneliness of success, and the weight of failure. He wrote honestly, raw, and without filters.
People began reading.
Comments came:
“This is exactly my story.”
“I thought no one understood corporate burnout.”
“You just described my life.”
Readers turned into followers. Followers into supporters. His stories became a community—people tired of the same race, people who were still wearing the corporate mask he once wore.
And for the first time, success didn’t exhaust him—it healed him.
Sanjeev learnt that failure wasn’t an ending; it was a doorway he had ignored for years. A doorway to passion, peace, creativity, and most importantly, time—to live, not just perform.
Today, he writes full-time. Not to prove anything, but to connect. Not to win awards, but to breathe. His blog became a voice for those who never speak, for those who break silently inside meeting rooms and boardrooms.
The corporate world gave him money, reputation, recognition.
But Failure gave him life, made him understand his real worth
Moral
Sometimes, losing what you thought you needed leads you to what you truly are. Success is beautiful, but peace is priceless.