Luck Isn’t a Lottery Ticket. It’s a Surface Area.
The Rush to Be a Billionaire by 30 Will Break You
Let me tell you a story.
The dorm hallway buzzed with the hum of overconfidence. Room 214 was a war room - half whiteboard, half fever dream. Ben and his co-founder were building “the future of trustless transactions.” They were both 20. They spoke in words they barely understood. “Smart contracts,” “tokenomics,” “decentralized identity.” They rehearsed their pitch deck like it was a play. The show had to go on.
Down the hall, Maya was in a different world. Quiet room. A stack of rejection letters. A half-eaten protein bar on her desk. She was applying to her tenth internship, all unpaid, all ignored. She reread a quote taped above her desk:
“You can’t produce a baby in one month by getting nine women pregnant.” —Warren Buffett
She smiled, sighed, and clicked “submit.”
Ben dropped out three months later. Landed $15 million from a fund led by someone who once quoted Ayn Rand on a podcast.
Maya got one interview.
Three years later, Ben was testifying in federal court.
Maya was leading ops for a Fortune 500 turnaround.
This is not about Ben. Or Maya.
It’s about what we believe - and more dangerously, what we fake-believe - and what we think our loved ones believe - about success.
We’ve sold ourselves a lie that the only way to matter is to win early, loudly, and spectacularly.
And nowhere is that lie more insidious than in the myth of the precocious prodigy.
Let’s talk about that kid you’ve been hearing about since middle school.
You know the one.
By 15, they already had a patent co-filed with their aunt, a Stanford PhD.
Spent their summers in molecular biology labs at top research institutions - “shadowing,” they called it.
Played squash, fenced, or crewed (the kind of sport that smells faintly of Ivy League exclusivity).
Volunteered overseas in a village whose name they couldn’t pronounce.
Played jazz piano with a professional ensemble.
Carried a 4.6 GPA in between tutoring calculus and launching a climate startup.
Now they’re at a top-ten school. Got recruited by OpenAI or SpaceX. Mentored by Altman or Musk. A Forbes feature is inevitable. Their net worth will soon exceed your parents’ retirement savings.
Who needs experience when you’ve been curated since birth?
And then there’s you.
You didn’t file a patent at 15.
You mowed lawns. You stocked shelves. You wrote bad essays in lit class and took the bus home. You were normal.
And now, in your twenties, you feel like you’re losing a race that no one invited you to run.
Every scroll reminds you of it.
The 24-year-old “life coach” with perfect teeth and a two-step path to enlightenment.
The “creator” in Bali who sells drop-shipping courses in between meditations.
The self-appointed CEO of a two-person Discord server who posts car selfies with captions like “Don’t mistake silence for weakness.”
They aren’t building lives.
They’re building performances.
Under pressure. Out of breath.
And terrified of being found out.
Because deep down, they suspect what you know:
None of this is real.
And all of it is exhausting.
The Cult of Early Bloomers
We’ve romanticized early success to the point of delusion.
Every “30 Under 30” list reads like a dystopian Hunger Games of ambition.
The subtext is clear: Make it fast or fade forever.
But what we fail to acknowledge:
Sam Bankman-Fried was on that list. Now he’s in prison.
Charlie Javice, too. Same list, different scam.
Elizabeth Holmes wasn’t on that list, but could’ve been. The media loved her - until it didn’t.
As Scott Galloway wrote:
“We mistake being early for being exceptional. But timing without discipline is just luck in disguise.”
And luck, if unmanaged, is a curse.
The people who win early rarely know how.
The people who win late usually do.
Because they built something the hard way—by learning, failing, learning again.
You Are Not Behind. You’re Becoming.
Let me say it flat out:
You are not late. You are not failing. You are not behind.
You are becoming.
This is the messy middle - the part of the movie we fast-forward through because it’s boring.
But this is where it happens.
This is where you:
Build a real skill.
Work under someone who’s smarter than you.
Find mentors you don’t deserve yet.
Learn how to keep your word, write well, solve hard problems, and stay kind under pressure.
This is the part that makes you.
But it’s slow.
And - it’s not meant for the highlight reel.
The Truth About Luck
Naval Ravikant says there are four kinds of luck.
Blind luck - what happens when you win the lottery.
Hustle luck - when you’re in motion and bump into chance.
Prepared luck - when you’re skilled and people come to you.
Character luck - when you’ve built a reputation so strong that the universe starts working in your favor.
Everyone wants the first. Few earn the fourth.
“Build your character so opportunity can’t ignore you.” —Naval Ravikant
Luck isn’t something you wait for.
It’s something you design for.
You build it like a greenhouse. One pane of glass at a time.
You build your “luck surface” so wide, so consistent, and so durable that when lightning strikes, you don’t flinch. You just get to work.
What the Long Game Looks Like
The long game is not sexy.
It’s:
Saying no to the quick win and yes to the long grind.
Watching someone dumber than you get rich faster - and not spiraling.
Building when no one’s clapping.
Practicing a craft no one understands - yet.
It’s being willing to look “behind” for five years… so you’re ahead for the next thirty.
Warren Buffett made 99% of his wealth after 50.
You think that’s an accident?
Discipline + time + a compounding surface area = inevitable luck.
But only if you survive the phase where it feels like nothing’s working.
Most people don’t.
That’s your advantage.
Stop Playing the Lottery. Start Building the Surface.
Here’s what works:
Master something boring and useful.
Put it in front of people.
Ask for feedback. Apply it. Repeat.
Stay honest.
Stay in the game.
You don’t need to be a founder.
You don’t need to be a coach.
You don’t need to be a “thought leader.”
You need to be useful.
And consistent.
And human.
In time, that beats every list, every virality loop, every fake billionaire.
The Ending That’s Worth It
Maya never made a splash.
No cover stories. No blue checks.
But at 38, she became the COO of a company that mattered.
Not because she moved fast and broke things.
But because she moved with care and built things that lasted.
She had freedom, not followers.
Time, not timelines.
Real wealth, not rented hype.
She didn’t rush. She endured.
And in doing so, she became the most dangerous thing of all:
Undeniable.
So if you’re still building, still stumbling, still searching - don’t look away.
This is where the good stuff is.
This is where luck starts to notice.
Stay in it.
You are not a lottery ticket.
You’re a surface.
Build wide. Build true.
And when the storm comes, you’ll be ready.
I hope your Sunday is going well.
With immense gratitude,
Adi