A few days ago, I realised I like ambitious people.

I like people who improve themselves every day, who have goals nobody else has, who have daily routines deemed absurd by others, who voluntarily suffer more for growth. These will become the top students, athletes and artists of their circles. They work the hardest, the smartest, and become better versions of themselves with time.

When I sense ambition in someone, it draws me to them. They become more interesting. I will unconsciously seek them out.

The opposite is true. Unambitious people aren’t as interesting to me. When I talk to someone and it’s clear that they are happy living a quiet life without much growth, I slowly lose interest. It’s unlikely we’ll keep in contact.

It’s not that I think worse of them or they are less valuable. I don’t consider an ambitious person’s life more important than an unambitious person’s life.

It’s just that there is a force that exists in people who are not content being average, and aim for perfection. People who recognise that their time is limited, and fight to make the most of it. People who have bigger goals than simply their hedonistic satisfaction, and endure suffering for a greater purpose. People who secretly know it’s all probably pointless in the end, but still fights in a war that is already marked with their loss.

It is a beautiful force.