On sacrifice.. what no one talks about

I’m writing this one in a particularly emotional and vulnerable state, so forgive me if today’s tone feels a bit different. 

And stick with me to the end, because I do wanna hear from YOU on this. 

I recently ended a very meaningful and loving relationship. 

A story where two people loved each other enough to stop asking the other one to betray their own timeline. 

I have a dream. So does she. And our dreams do not overlap. 

I’m in expansion mode right now: I need flexibility. I need to go where the work takes me, build new roads, take risks, travel, and say yes to things without entirely knowing where they lead. 

She’s ready for something different: A home. A family. Roots. A life that can start taking shape around some certainty. 

Neither dream is more valid than the other. 

In fact, we were both supportive enough of each other’s dreams to realize that loving each other might also mean letting each other go. 

So… naturally, I’ve been thinking a lot about sacrifice. 

Specifically, how the price of “chasing a dream” changes as you get older. 

When we’re young, sacrifice is almost romanticized. 

Sleep on the couch. 

Eat ramen. 

Take the shitty job. 

Drive the shitty car. 

Stay up all night working. 

Be broke for a while. 

“Bet on yourself.” 

It’s practically part of the mythology. 

But nobody really tells you what sacrifice starts to look like later. 

I’m 38 now. 

And if you don’t know my story, I started my adult life at 18 wanting to be an artist. 

Somewhere along the way, I fell into the business side of music. I built a career in marketing, started a company, worked with incredible artists, and had some success. 

But eventually I realized: I still wanna make the art. 

So in 2020, I started turning the ship around. And over the last two years, I’ve gone into full overdrive. 

In a strange way, I started over. 

And starting over at 38 is very different from starting at 22. 

Because the things you’re gambling aren’t just money anymore. 

They’re stability. Relationships. Geography. 

The possibility of a home. The timeline for having a family. The comfort of knowing what next month looks like. The life you could probably have if you just stopped taking so many fucking risks. 

The price goes up. 

And lately, I’ve been feeling that price. 

Because I’ve also realized just how much that relationship gave me emotional stability inside a professional life that often provides very little of it. 

Making the art itself is incredibly rewarding. I love it. 

But the pursuit of it? Man… that can be VERY different. 

Rejection. Silence. Unanswered emails. Meetings that lead nowhere. Promising opportunities that disappear. Unpredictable income. Constantly putting something you care deeply about in front of people and waiting to see if they care too. 

There is something psychologically unsafe about living in that state for too long. 

And meanwhile, I had this person in my life who deeply understood me, believed in me, and supported what I was trying to build. 

That was an anchor. 

And now, in losing that anchor, I find myself asking: 

When is enough… enough? 

When does the dream BECOME the thing? 

When does the uncertainty become stability? 

When do you get to stop saying, “Just give it another year”? 

I don’t know. 

These are the moments when I look at the life I’m trying to build and think: 

Hang on… is this actually worth it? 

That’s an uncomfortable question for someone like me. Because I’m supposed to say yes. Of course it’s worth it. 

“Follow your dreams.” 

“Bet on yourself.” 

“Never give up.” 

“Keep going.” 

I’ve probably told other people some version of those things a thousand times. 

But I’m not sure I believe we should follow our dreams at ANY cost. 

Because… there IS a cost.

And as you get older, the bill can start arriving in things that matter a hell of a lot more than money. 

I recently watched an old 60 Minutes interview with Jerry Seinfeld from when he was around 42, at the absolute height of Seinfeld. 

The interviewer asked him when he’d been happiest. 

“I’d say right now.” 

He’d gambled on himself. But what stayed with me was his admission that he hadn’t known whether the gamble would work! 

That’s the part we conveniently leave out when we tell these stories afterward. Once someone succeeds, the uncertainty disappears from the biography. 

Of COURSE Seinfeld became Seinfeld. 

Of COURSE the company worked. 

Of COURSE the artist broke through. 

Of COURSE the risk was worth taking. 

Except there was a moment when none of that had happened yet. There was just a person making a bet. 

That’s where I find myself right now: betting on myself. 

And I genuinely don’t know how the bet turns out. 

I believe in what I’m building. Deeply. 
But belief and certainty aren’t the same thing. 

And maybe that’s the Zag this time…? Fuck man, maybe there isn’t one. I’m still living through this. 

All I can really tell you is how I’m responding to it. 

It’s forcing me to think much more seriously about what I actually need to build. 

Not just: What would make me successful? 

But: What would allow me to live a happy life WHILE trying to become successful? 

Because maybe the goal isn’t to construct a life where you finally become successful enough that sacrifice stops hurting. 

Maybe the goal is to construct a life strong enough to hold you while you take the risks: 

Look at the people you love. 

Look at the stability you’ve built. 

Look at what the dream is asking you to give up. 

And ask yourself: Is it worth it? 

Not because the answer should be no. 

And not because the answer should be yes. 

But because if you’re going to make the bet, you should know what you’re putting on the table. 

Dreams aren’t free. 

And the older I get, the more I understand that the most expensive things they ask from us sometimes have nothing to do with money. 

- Hisham