Success can remove the need to change, and your momentum hides the moment your growth curve flattens.

A few weeks ago, I ran into a former university classmate at an event in Munich. One of those swanky villas, music way too loud, the two of us shouting into each other’s ears just to have a normal conversation. Later, one of the senior partners grumbled to me: “Yeah, the interns ran this one.”

I realized I might be getting too old for these parties. Ouch.

Back to my classmate. Between shouts, we started talking about the people we knew back then, the obvious stars. The exceptionally smart ones who seemed destined for great things.

Some of them had more or less disappeared from the map. Nothing had gone wrong for them. They had found something that worked early and stayed on that path, and at some point they stopped progressing.

My classmate had been one of the quieter ones. His path went through some deep valleys. He struggled, suffered, changed direction, and kept going. Today he runs a successful investment firm, recently got married, and seems genuinely happy.

As for me, I was still a dork back then, trying to find my way between way too expensive bars in Switzerland, grueling exams and too many student clubs to join. I most certainly hadn’t figured it out, on any level.

What struck my friend and me: looking back, only a few of the early stars are among the people who are thriving today. But wasn’t it obvious back then? What happened?

Here’s my theory.

Early advantages tend to compound. Sociologists call it the Matthew Effect: recognition brings opportunities, opportunities bring resources and confidence, and success starts reinforcing itself. A beautiful flywheel.

I think something else compounds too, in the opposite direction:

Early winners get less friction. Nobody forces them to reinvent themselves, to build new skills, or to learn how to deal with rejection and ambiguity. They just fly through their early years, unchallenged by life.

People who don’t win early have to do all of that again and again. (And again, as many of you painfully know.)

Early in our lives and careers, our growth curve is steep. We learn fast and figure out who we are. Then we get really good at what we do. We keep moving forward, and through our achievement, we gain momentum. Oh, the sweet taste of success!

Perhaps that’s the moment at which early winners risk being carried away by something like escape velocity from their own growth curve. We’ve become so good at the game we’re playing that we no longer need to change.

You can be very fast and still stop growing.

You can be top of the game without being at the top of your game.

Which leads to an uncomfortable thought: If you find yourself at the top of your league, you may be in the wrong league. The game has become too easy to make you better.

Friction breaks some people (I’ve seen enough of those), and I don’t want to romanticize the valleys my classmate went through. Still, I’m increasingly convinced that a good life depends on finding the kind of friction that keeps your curve steep.

Maybe you understand why I needed to give you the simpleton version of “success” today: there’s something counterintuitive to being on top, and I believe it leads to wasted potential.

Take one minute and answer two questions:

Which part of your work could you do in your sleep?

When did you last get noticeably better at it?

If the second answer is “I can’t remember,” that’s where your curve has flattened. This week, put yourself in one situation in that area where you have to step up your game.

Yours,