Every Win You See Is a Mirror.

Do You Like What You See?

The Mirror

When someone you know wins, lands a big job, raises a round, gets press, buys a house, what flashes through your mind?

Be honest.
Is it admiration? Envy? A detached, intellectual curiosity? Or a quiet clench in your chest, that creeping sense you’re falling behind?

I run a venture fund for founders under 25. I meet thousands of ambitious young people every year. And I watch for one thing: what happens when someone else wins?

Not them. Someone else.
When someone in their cohort raises a round. When a friend gets picked. When a peer goes viral.

People react in patterns. They follow a script, even if they don’t realize it. And that script tells me more about their future than any pitch deck, CV, or credentials ever could.

Your reaction to someone else’s success is one of the clearest predictors of your own.

It’s not the only factor, talent, timing, and luck matter too. But this flashpoint is revealing. It shows me how you process ambition, how you handle insecurity, how you make sense of possibility.

There are three common instincts I’ve seen play out again and again:

1. Some people study it.
   They’re not just applauding. They’re taking notes.

2. Some people sneer at it.
   They minimize it. Justify it. Find a way to poke holes.

3. Some people excuse it.
   They distance it from themselves. That’s not for people like me.

This piece is about those three reactions, and why they matter.

And we’ll end, as always, with a simple but not-easy question: what does your reaction say about you?

Because when someone else wins, you’re not just watching them.
You’re looking in a mirror.
And the question is: do you like what you see?

The Student Studies It

Some people watch someone else win and barely flinch. Or if they do, it doesn’t last.

There’s a momentary pang, they’re human, but then something else kicks in: curiosity. Energy. That quiet, hungry question: how did they do it?

You’ll hear them say:
“Wait, what was their edge?”
“What can I take from this?”

They don’t see someone else’s success as a verdict. They see it as a playbook.

I’ve seen this play out with young founders again and again. Two people start the same cohort with similar skills. Six months later, one raises a round while the other is still spinning their wheels.

The one still stuck has a choice: stew or study.

The ones who win, eventually, are the ones who treat others’ wins like free case studies. They ask better questions. They pick up the phone. They take notes, adapt tactics, and emulate what works.

Psychologist Carol Dweck calls this a growth mindset: the belief that abilities aren’t fixed, that you can improve. Her research shows that people with a growth mindset are inspired, not threatened, by others’ success. They see it as proof that progress is possible.

By contrast, those with a fixed mindset, who see abilities as innate and static, feel threatened. They interpret someone else’s win as their loss.

And growth mindset doesn’t just feel better. It works better.

Research on benign envy backs this up. We think of envy as toxic, but there’s a kind that motivates: the kind that stings and whispers, “I want that. And I think I can if I try harder.”

Studies show benign envy is linked to higher effort and better outcomes, but only if you believe improvement is possible. That belief comes from experience, reframing, or sheer refusal to give up.

Two real-world examples: Patrick Collison and Kobe Bryant.

Patrick Collison, co-founder of Stripe, is known as a voracious learner. Investor Chris Sacca said: “Patrick studies everyone. He remembers everything. His success is no accident.”

Collison absorbed lessons from others, and he built faster.

Kobe? He didn’t admire Michael Jordan, he obsessed. He studied Jordan’s moves, footwork, habits, even his mannerisms.

Jordan once said: “He steals all my moves. He just doesn’t admit it.”
Phil Jackson saw it too: “Kobe worked tirelessly to close every gap.”

Kobe didn’t see Jordan’s greatness as proof he’d never measure up. He saw it as a map.

That’s what students of success do. They don’t sulk. They extract value. They close the gap.

Over time, that habit compounds, until what others call luck is just the quiet dividends of years of study.

If you want to build this habit for yourself, here are a few ways to start:

De-personalize it: Stop interpreting someone else’s win as a personal judgment of your worth. It isn’t about you. It’s just proof that something is possible.

Be specific: When you see someone succeed, don’t just say “good for them” and move on. Ask yourself: what exactly did they do right? What concrete choices, habits, or moves set them up for this?

Reach out: If it’s appropriate, ask them. Congratulate them sincerely, then follow up: “Would you mind sharing what you think made the biggest difference?” You’ll be shocked how many people will tell you.

Benchmark, don’t worship: It’s good to have role models. But don’t turn them into gods. Treat them as human, flawed but instructive. Take what you can, and adapt it to your reality.

Write it down: Keep a running list of “success notes” from people you admire. Patterns will emerge over time. You’ll see what really matters, and what doesn’t.

When you catch yourself feeling envious of someone else, pause and reframe.
Don’t ask: why not me yet?
Ask: what can I learn to get there?

Admiration that doesn’t turn into action is just performance, and envy that doesn’t turn into improvement is just rot.

So study it. Take notes. And then go get yours.

The Cynic Sneers at It

The most common reaction I see when someone else wins? They don’t smile. They smirk.

They shrug, laugh, and point out the flaw. The external reason it “doesn’t really count.”

"He just got lucky."
"She knows the right people."
"It’s all hype."
"The system’s rigged."

It sounds sharp, even principled. But really, it’s just bitterness dressed as discernment.

I see it all the time. Mention another young founder who raised a round, and someone will roll their eyes: "Well sure, their family funded them. They knew the right people. Right place, right time."

Maybe some of that’s true. But it doesn’t matter. If all you do is sneer, you’re still no closer to your own win.

Psychologist Carol Dweck calls this a fixed mindset: the belief that talent is fixed and improvement impossible. Every success feels like proof you’re falling short, and that threat hardens into cynicism.

You stop asking “how did they do it?” and start asking “why didn’t they deserve it?”

Researchers call this malicious envy. Unlike benign envy, which drives you to improve, malicious envy drives you to tear others down. Not always out loud. Sometimes just quietly, muttering to yourself: “That wasn’t deserved.”

But it eats at you all the same. Over time, this kind of envy lowers motivation, sabotages performance, and erodes your mental health. As Amy Morin writes: “You’ll never become mentally stronger by diminishing someone else’s accomplishments.”

Here’s the darker truth: sometimes cynics are right.
Some people do ride luck or privilege you don’t have.

But what does sneering actually give you?
Does it get you closer? Teach you anything? Change your reality? Or just leave you smaller, angrier, and still behind?

I’ve seen cynics waste years nursing quiet bitterness while others move on. I’ve watched founders so focused on discrediting competitors they forgot to build their own product. I’ve watched teammates obsess over a peer’s promotion while their own performance slipped.

And in the end, the other person is still ahead.
And the cynic is left with nothing but a sour taste.

How to Break the Cynic Spiral:

Catch the first thought: When you hear yourself diminishing someone else’s win, stop and ask: is that a fact or a story?

Flip the question: Instead of “Why them?” try “Why not me, yet?” It keeps the door open.

Focus on what you can control: Their connections? Their luck? You can’t change any of that. But you can change your skill, your pitch, your strategy. Work on that.

Seek better benchmarks: Don’t just judge. Study. Even if they had advantages, there’s almost always something to learn about how they positioned themselves, how they executed, how they sold it.

Detach their story from yours: Someone else’s win doesn’t mean your loss. Their timeline is not your timeline.

I’ll tell you the hard thing about cynicism: It feels smart. It feels principled. It feels like you’re seeing through the noise.

But really, it’s just fear.

Fear that you can’t keep up. Fear that you won’t measure up. Fear that if you actually tried and failed, you’d have no story left to protect you.

So you protect yourself by pretending everyone else is a fraud.
But that protection is a cage.

Yes, some cynics grow out of it. Some take the chip on their shoulder and use it as fuel. But many don’t.

They let the bitterness harden. They let the excuses calcify. And they end up sitting on the sidelines, still telling themselves they’re smarter than the people actually playing the game.

You don’t have to admire everyone. You don’t have to clap for everything. You’re allowed to critique, question, and have standards.

But know the difference between critique and cynicism.
Critique asks: How could this have been better? What can I learn here?
Cynicism just asks: Why bother?

And once you start asking “why bother?” enough times, you forget how to bother at all.

If you catch yourself in this spiral, stop. You’re allowed to want more for yourself. You’re allowed to not be there yet. You’re allowed to feel jealous or insecure or behind.

But don’t let that become bitterness.
Let it become energy.

The Defeatist Excuses It

The third reaction is harder to spot because it hides under politeness. No sneering. No visible bitterness.

Just a quiet shrug. And a resigned little phrase: "That’s not for people like me."

I hear it more often than you’d think. When I mention someone’s big win, a raise, a round, a milestone, I see it in their eyes. Not angry. Not jealous. Just decided.

"Well, of course she could. She grew up in Bombay, had the network."
"Good for him, but that’s not realistic for someone like me."
"That advice doesn’t apply. My situation’s different."

What they’re really saying is: “I’ve already given up.”

You know this story, sour grapes. Aesop’s fox couldn’t reach the grapes, so he walked away muttering: "They were probably sour anyway."

We pretend to despise what we can’t get.

Researchers call it adaptive preference formation: the tendency to devalue goals we fail to reach, convincing ourselves they weren’t worth it anyway.

But here’s the catch: when people later achieve those same goals, they report just as much joy as anyone else.

The grapes were never sour. The fox just stopped jumping.

This reaction is insidious because it feels safe. You can tell yourself you’re being realistic. Even principled: "I’m not chasing that kind of success. I have other priorities."

And sometimes that’s true. Not every path is for everyone.

But here’s the trap: once you convince yourself success “isn’t for you,” you let yourself off the hook. You never risk trying, failing, or looking foolish.

But you also never get anywhere.

I see it constantly with founders. They hear about someone their age raising millions and instantly recite why it was possible for them but impossible for me:

"His parents funded his seed round."
"She has an Ivy League network."
"He’s in the Valley. Of course it’s easier there."

Some of that may even be true. But then they don’t even bother to apply, to pitch, to try.

And here’s the irony: half the founders who did win didn’t have those advantages either. They just refused to write themselves out of the story.

Yes, there are obstacles. Some people start with more.
But the ones who move forward say: "Okay. This is harder. But what can I still do? What’s the next step I can take?"

Because the alternative , explaining away every win you see, might feel safe now, but it guarantees you’ll never even taste the grapes.

How to Stop Excusing Yourself

Separate fact from story: Yes, privilege is real. So is luck. But so is effort. Acknowledge what’s true, then ask what’s still possible for you.

Find the piece that is relevant: Even if someone’s full playbook doesn’t apply to you, what part of it could you still adapt?

Watch your language: Every time you say “that’s not for me,” challenge yourself to rephrase: “That’s not for me yet.” Or: “That’s harder for me, but not impossible.”

Look for your version: If you really don’t want what they have, fine. But don’t hide behind that. Figure out what you do want and define success for yourself, then start building toward that.

Test your assumptions: Sometimes the barriers you assume are bigger than they really are. Try anyway. Fail anyway. You might surprise yourself.

I want to be clear: Not everyone has the same starting line. Not everyone has the same finish line, either. And no, the system isn’t always fair. But the fact that the game is unfair doesn’t mean you should stop playing.

Even in constraint, mindset matters. Because once you let yourself believe success is “for other people,” you ensure it stays that way.

Why It Matters, How These Reactions Shape Your Future

So what?

Maybe you see yourself in one of these three archetypes, or all of them at different times. But you’re wondering: does it really matter? Does it actually change where you end up?

Every time I’ve asked myself that question, the answer has been the same: Yes. Absolutely.

Your reaction to someone else’s success isn’t just about that moment. It’s about what you do next, the choices you make and the story you tell yourself about what’s possible. That story becomes your identity. And that identity shapes your outcomes.

Mindset compounds quietly. The first time you study instead of sneer, or reach instead of excuse yourself, it feels small. But over months, years, those choices harden into habits, and habits into identity. By the time you notice, you’ve already been walking that path a long time.

I see it all the time. Those who meet others’ wins with curiosity, even when it stings, keep moving. They find mentors because they’re open. They try more because they believe there’s room for them. They risk embarrassment because they haven’t disqualified themselves.

And those who sneer or excuse stay stuck, nursing stories about why someone else didn’t deserve it, while the world moves on without them.

Every win you see holds up a mirror. And the reflection isn’t about them, it’s about you.

If you see opportunity, you’re already moving. If you see only threat, you’re already frozen.

It isn’t magic. It isn’t manifestation. It’s just human behavior. You work for what you believe is possible, and you never even try for what you’ve decided you can’t reach.

This isn’t just about performance. It’s about how heavy your life feels. Cynicism is exhausting. Resentment is exhausting. Even when you’re right about the unfairness of it all, it doesn’t free you. It just hardens you.

But curiosity? Admiration? Even quiet learning? Those make you lighter. They keep you open. They build networks and mentors because people like being around someone who isn’t keeping score.

That’s why this matters. Because other people’s success costs you nothing, but your reaction to it can cost you everything.

You don’t lose just because someone else won. You lose when you convince yourself their win means you don’t belong. You lose when you decide it’s safer not to try.

And nobody who ever won did it by sulking.

So next time someone gets what you wanted, watch yourself. Notice your first thought. Then choose your second.

You don’t have to clap. You don’t have to want what they have. But you do have to decide what you’ll do about it.

You can spend your energy explaining why it didn’t count. Or spend it learning what you still need.

You can let it make you smaller. Or better.

Because that mirror doesn’t just reflect who you are.
It shows who you’re becoming.

And if you don’t like what you see, change it.

Caveats & Nuances: The Subtleties That Matter

It’s tempting to flatten mindset into a neat moral.

Study good. Cynicism bad. Excuses bad. End of story.

But life is messier.

Reactions aren’t black and white, and neither are you. A few truths don’t fit cleanly into the archetypes, but they’re worth knowing if you want to move forward without shame.

A little envy isn’t always bad

Envy isn’t always weakness.
Research suggests benign envy, that sharp pang paired with determination, can actually fuel some of your best work.

You’ve felt it: that ache, paired with the thought, I want that. And I think I could, if I tried harder.

Benign envy keeps you in the arena. Unlike admiration, which can slip into passivity, envy keeps you hungry.

So don’t feel guilty for that ache. It’s just your ambition, alive and kicking. What matters is what you do next.

Not every cynic stays a cynic

Some people grow out of cynicism.
I’ve met plenty of founders who started out eye-rolling every win around them, sometimes with good reason.

But the smarter ones learned to separate structural unfairness from their own agency.
At some point, they stopped asking why them? and started asking what now?

Cynicism won’t fade on its own. You have to choose to put it down.

Quiet competitors exist

Not everyone who looks like a cynic really is one. Some play their ambition close to the chest. They don’t clap loudly, but they’re still learning.

It’s rarer and riskier, but it happens.
Just be honest with yourself: are you really learning? Or just sulking and calling it strategy?

Privilege is real, but not the whole story

Some people do start ahead. They’re richer, healthier, better connected.

It’s okay to name that. To feel the unfairness of it.

But you still decide what you’ll do with what you do have. I’ve seen people waste every advantage through cynicism, and others claw their way in with nothing but persistence.

It’s not always fair. But it’s not impossible either.

You’re more than your benchmark

And finally: you don’t have to keep up.

If watching others win makes you miserable, step back for a while.

Study what works. Stay honest. But let yourself move at your own pace.

The healthiest kind of studying comes from curiosity, not desperation to prove yourself.

If you feel crushed every time someone else posts a win, you don’t need to sneer or excuse. You just need to remember who you’re becoming.

We’re human. We’re messy.
We feel all of it, sometimes all at once.

What matters is what you do next.
Bitterness and excuses are habits, and habits can change.

The Mirror Doesn’t Lie

There’s something brutal about watching someone else win.

Because in that moment, you’re not just seeing them. You’re seeing yourself.

Their success doesn’t change your circumstances. It doesn’t pay your bills, finish your deck, or even notice you. But it does hold up a mirror.

And in that mirror, you catch a glimpse of your own ambition and your fear. You see the version of yourself you could be, and the version you’re afraid you are.

That moment matters more than you think.
Because how you handle it becomes habit.
That habit becomes your default posture toward the world.
And over time, posture hardens into identity.
And identity shapes everything.

I’ve seen it play out a thousand times.

Some people light up when a peer hits a milestone, scribbling down what they can learn.
Others crack a cynical joke to mask the sting, already telling themselves it was all politics or luck.
And some just quietly disengage, glaze over, and think, “That was never possible for me anyway.”

These tiny reactions become muscle memory. You think it’s just a passing feeling, but it’s already shaping who you’re becoming.

So the next time someone wins, a friend, a peer, a stranger on LinkedIn, stop and really watch yourself.

What’s your first thought?
And what’s your second?

Do you take notes? Do you sneer? Do you shrink?

The mirror doesn’t care what you say out loud.
It reflects what you actually believe.
And here’s the hard truth: it’s honest.
But it’s not permanent.

If you don’t like what you see, you can change it.
But only if you’re willing to look.

You don’t have to clap for everyone. You don’t have to admire every win. You don’t even have to want what they have.
But you do have to decide who you’re going to be in the face of it.

You can dismiss it, excuse it, let it harden you into someone smaller.
Or you can pay attention, learn from it, and let it sharpen you into someone better.

That choice doesn’t change them.
It changes you.

And one day, someone else will watch you win and wonder how you pulled it off.

When that day comes, and you feel the weight of their eyes on you, you’ll want to know you chose right when it was your turn to look in the mirror.

So look. Really look.

If you see nothing but excuses, you already know where you’re headed.
But if you see possibility even through envy, even through fear, grab it.

Nobody wins by sneering. Nobody wins by shrinking.

The mirror doesn’t care what you choose.
But one day, you will.