I'm disappointed that success hasn't been a Himalayan feeling.

Hear the reflective words of Gene Hackman, master of stage and screen: “I’m disappointed that success hasn’t been a Himalayan feeling.” In this confession lies the wisdom of one who has climbed the mountain, who has touched the crown that so many pursue, only to find that its summit is not the heaven he imagined. It is the voice of a man who discovered that glory, applause, and recognition, though bright, are not the ultimate fire of the soul.

The metaphor of the Himalayas is powerful. These are the highest peaks of the earth, snow-bound and sacred, the place where mortals believed they might touch the realm of gods. Hackman expected that success—fame, fortune, mastery of his craft—would be like standing atop those peaks, breathless, exalted, filled with wonder. But when he reached his own summits, he found instead that the air was thin, the silence heavy, and the feeling fleeting. The mountain was high, but the heart was not transformed as he had hoped.

This is a truth that echoes across history. Think of Alexander the Great, who wept when there were no more worlds to conquer. He had reached the highest summit of earthly power, yet the Himalayan feeling he sought eluded him. His victories, though vast, did not fill the emptiness within. Hackman’s words carry the same lament: that the triumphs which glitter before us often leave us still searching, still hungry, still unsatisfied.

Yet we must not mistake his words for despair. They are, rather, an unveiling of illusion. For many imagine that once they achieve their dream, happiness will overflow and last forever. But Hackman teaches us that the exaltation of success is but a passing breeze. It cannot be the final anchor of the soul. If we make it our god, we will be disappointed, for it was never meant to hold that weight. The Himalayan peaks exist not in worldly achievement, but in the inner life of meaning, purpose, and love.

Consider the example of Mother Teresa, who did not pursue success as the world defines it. Her work was simple: to serve the poorest of the poor. There were no crowns, no applause in the alleys of Calcutta, only suffering and service. Yet in this work she found a depth of peace and devotion that no worldly mountaintop could offer. Her life teaches us that the true “Himalayan feeling” arises not from success, but from giving oneself wholly to something greater than the self.

The deeper lesson is this: success is not to be despised, but it must be placed in its rightful place. It is a tool, a milestone, a reward for labor—but not the summit of life. The Himalayas of the spirit are found elsewhere: in integrity, in relationships, in compassion, in truth. To chase only applause is to climb a mountain that, once summited, feels strangely empty. To chase meaning, however, is to climb endlessly, finding joy in the ascent itself, no matter how high one goes.

So, O children of tomorrow, hear Gene Hackman’s lament and take it as a guide. Do not expect success to deliver the fullness of life—it cannot. Celebrate it, yes, but seek also the deeper peaks: the Himalayan feeling of love, service, and authenticity. Let your triumphs be stepping stones, not final thrones. For the highest summit is not the applause of the world, but the peace of a soul that has lived true. And that, above all else, is the mountain worth climbing.