“I returned, and saw under the sun, that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favour to men of skill; but time and chance happeneth to them all. “
— Ecclesiastes 9:11, KJB
A recent study out of Cornell confirmed something I’ve long suspected: success isn’t primarily determined by talent. It’s not the smartest, most capable person who always rises. Instead, it's often the person who has enough talent—and happens to be in the right place at the right time.
In other words, success is a cocktail of competence and chance. You need just enough skill to recognize opportunity when it knocks, but without luck, the door might never open in the first place.
From a Stoic perspective, this reinforces what we already know: most things are outside our control. I can’t command fortune, timing, or the actions of others. I can only govern my thoughts and behaviors—if I’m disciplined enough to do so. I can prepare. I can put myself in motion. But the outcome? That belongs to Fate.
This realization carries a strange comfort. It means I can stop berating myself for the opportunities that never materialize. I can stop measuring my worth by outcomes that were never mine to guarantee.
The Buddhists say it another way: desire is the root of suffering. And when I tie my happiness to external achievements—to promotions, praise, or lucky breaks—I set myself up for disappointment. Because even when the outcome I crave arrives, it just fuels the appetite for more. One win breeds the hunger for the next. It’s a treadmill powered by craving.
Worse, the prize itself may carry unseen costs. Winning the lottery might seem like a dream—until I’m hit by a bus on the way to cash the ticket. We don’t know the consequences of what we desire. We think we want certain outcomes, but we can never know all the consequences of what we desire.
So what can I do?
I can show up. I can do my best. I can sharpen my perception to spot the doors when they open. But I must also cultivate the humility to accept what follows. No amount of talent guarantees the outcome. No amount of planning makes the path certain.
What is guaranteed—what I can always fall back on—is the work of my self-mastery. Living a life of virtue as best I can. My efforts in this are the only true metrics of success and the only rewards that can’t be taken from me by fortune or fate.
Modern society tells me my achievements are mine alone. That success is just a matter of willpower, hustle, and grit. But when I fail to reach my goals—as everyone eventually will—it turns that message against me. Suddenly, my failure isn’t just unfortunate; it’s a personal indictment.
That’s a lie.
Real peace comes not from constant striving but from living with purpose. Not from outcomes but from integrity. Not from external validation but from the quiet, steady work of becoming who I was meant to be.
And that work doesn’t require luck: only effort and the wisdom to know where to direct it.