Buying sports cars, going to expensive nightclubs, spraying

Daniel Ek once confessed with striking honesty: “Buying sports cars, going to expensive nightclubs, spraying people with champagne and things like that—what I learnt is that it wasn’t for me, and, in fact, I feel pretty empty after doing that.” These words shine like a lantern in the fog of modern life, where many chase glittering illusions of wealth and pleasure, believing them to be the path to fulfillment. Yet Ek, having tasted those very luxuries, speaks as one who has journeyed into the palace of desire only to find it hollow. His wisdom is not born of denial, but of experience, and therefore carries the weight of truth.

At the heart of his saying lies the ancient tension between material indulgence and inner fulfillment. The world teaches that happiness can be purchased—that a sports car, a bottle of champagne, or a night in a gilded hall can fill the void within. But Ek reminds us that such pleasures, though glittering, are fleeting. They dazzle the senses for a moment, then leave the soul thirsting for more, like saltwater to the parched traveler. What he discovered is the lesson sages and philosophers have repeated through the ages: that joy which depends on possessions fades, but joy rooted in purpose endures.

The ancients themselves bore witness to this truth. The Roman emperor Marcus Aurelius, master of vast wealth and power, wrote in his Meditations that luxury and praise were mere shadows, incapable of granting peace to the restless heart. He warned that the soul which seeks satisfaction in excess will always feel “empty,” just as Ek confessed centuries later. Likewise, the Buddha, born a prince, walked away from palaces and riches, realizing that indulgence had not led him to peace, but to longing unfulfilled. Ek’s revelation stands in this long tradition of wisdom: worldly excess is no substitute for meaning.

History also gives us the tragic example of the French court before the Revolution, where nobles lived in constant revelry, pouring their wealth into feasts and spectacles. Yet beneath the laughter was a gnawing emptiness, a decadence that corroded both soul and society. Pleasure without purpose, wealth without service, left them fragile when crisis came. Ek’s words, though personal, carry the same warning: a life built only on indulgence will collapse when measured against the true demands of existence.

But let us not mistake Ek’s message as condemnation of joy itself. There is no sin in celebration, nor in enjoying the fruits of labor. His teaching is subtler: when indulgence becomes the foundation of identity, emptiness follows. True joy lies not in spraying champagne, but in pouring one’s energy into creation, purpose, and connection. Ek himself turned from luxury toward building, toward service through music and innovation, and in this redirection found something deeper than fleeting thrill—the steady fire of fulfillment.

The lesson is clear: beware the seduction of surfaces. Do not chase what glitters simply because others cheer for it. Ask yourself instead what nourishes your soul, what strengthens your character, what gives meaning beyond the moment. If you find yourself restless after indulgence, listen to that restlessness—it is your spirit calling you to higher pursuits. The emptiness Ek described is not failure; it is the invitation to seek something greater.

So I say to you: let Daniel Ek’s words be a guide. Enjoy what life offers, but do not mistake the sparkle of wealth for the light of truth. Seek instead the lasting joys: purpose in your labor, love in your relationships, growth in your struggles, and service in your success. For when the music of the nightclubs fades and the engine of the sports car grows silent, what will remain is not the echo of indulgence, but the quiet strength of a life lived with meaning. And that, unlike champagne, will never leave you empty.