Oh! why should the spirit of mortal be proud?
Like a swift-fleeting meteor, a fast-flying cloud,
A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave,
He passeth from life to his rest in the grave.
—William Knox
Is ambition bad?
Ambition often feels like a negative word: restless, self-focused, a need to prove yourself through achievement or acclaim. And that’s not new.
The word ambition comes from the Latin ambitio, meaning “a going around,” as in walking the streets to seek votes and curry favor. From the beginning, ambition has been about gaining approval. About proving.
I’ve felt that too, that pull to prove something, to earn approval. And I’ve wrestled with the fact that ambition might actually be necessary to move you forward.
Pick any revered leader and tell me they weren’t ambitious. Even the most selfless among them: Gandhi, Mother Teresa, they were driven. Focused. Relentless in pursuit of something. Was it always altruistic? Probably not. I think it started with ambition.
It still feels wrong somehow. But maybe ambition is essential?
Maybe ambition isn’t bad. It’s just unfinished.
It begins as a raw stone: heavy, unshaped, full of potential. Left untouched, it can weigh you down.
Worse, it can become a cage. You end up stuck inside, grasping through the bars like a howling monkey, reaching for morsels of validation handed out by everyone else. When ambition stays rooted in ego, you’re not building. You’re waiting to be fed.
Humility picks the lock.
It frees you to become more, so you can build more, give more, and prove less.
If you do that work, if you shape it, ambition can become something more.
It can shift from ambition to purpose.
Ambition is loud.
Purpose is quiet.
Ambition is about self.
Purpose is about others.
Ambition seeks to prove.
Purpose seeks to serve. To improve, others.
Abraham Lincoln is a clear example of this tension.
Most people remember him as purposeful, principled, almost mythic. But that’s not how he started. He stepped out of his dirt-floor cabin with burning ambition, a need to rise, to matter, to prove he was more than his circumstances.
His early drive to become a politician, to become president, was deeply rooted in self-focused ambition. He wanted to leave a mark, and he said as much. And when the opportunity came, he jumped at it.
But over time, that ambition was tempered by loss, responsibility, and reflection. He changed. His ego grew quiet, and what remained was purpose, mature, moral, and outward-facing. And then he was gone. His death froze him at the exact moment we remember him most for purpose. It likely overshadows the ambition that got him there, but that’s okay. Right?
He made the turn.
He did the work. On himself.
Ultimately, he delivered for us.
That’s the journey.
Ambition begins in ego.
But if we’re lucky and willing, it’s refined by failure, shaped by responsibility, and softened by humility.
Then, if we let it, it transforms into purpose.
I’ve wrestled with this more than I’d like to admit. I’ve spent years chasing credit, hoping it would fill something. I’m not enough. I don’t have enough. But with age and experience, that need quiets. It stops being about recognition. It starts being about impact. How are you going to leave people?
People worked hard to give us the life we enjoy now, and we have the chance to do the same for others.
In the end, maybe what matters isn’t whether they remember our names, but whether or not they feel our impact.
Life is short, friends.
Take care. Be good.
—Kelly
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