There’s a peculiar comfort in explaining away someone else’s achievements. When a colleague lands a major promotion, when a competitor’s startup takes off, when someone in our field seems to effortlessly excel where we struggle, we reach for familiar narratives. “They got lucky,” we tell ourselves. Or perhaps, “Well, they must have cut corners,” or “They probably knew someone.”
These explanations feel satisfying in the moment. They protect our ego, preserve our self-image, and require nothing from us. But they also represent one of the most expensive cognitive shortcuts we can take, because every time we attribute someone’s success to luck or lack of ethics, we slam the door on a learning opportunity.
The truth is that luck and ethics exist on a spectrum, and yes, both play roles in any success story. Some people do get breaks that others don’t. Some people do compromise their values for advancement. But when these become our default explanations, when we reach for them reflexively, we’re not being perceptive. We’re being lazy.
Consider what happens when we dismiss achievement as mere luck. We absolve ourselves of the need to examine what that person actually did. We don’t ask what decisions they made, what risks they took, what patterns they noticed that we missed. We don’t wonder how they positioned themselves to be in the right place at the right time, or how they recognized an opportunity that might have looked like noise to everyone else. Luck often favors those who’ve done the groundwork to recognize and seize it, but if we’ve already written off their success as random chance, we’ll never see that groundwork.
The ethical dismissal is even more insidious because it cloaks itself in moral superiority. “I could succeed too if I were willing to lie, cheat, or sell out,” we think. Sometimes this is accurate, a genuine recognition of lines we won’t cross. But often it’s a convenient fiction that lets us avoid a harder question: What if they succeeded while maintaining their integrity, just differently than we would have? What if their approach to ethics is more nuanced, more contextual, or simply more effective than our rigid framework? What if what we’re calling unethical is actually just unfamiliar?
I’m not suggesting that all success is earned or that unethical behavior doesn’t exist. Corporate malfeasance is real. Nepotism is real. Systemic advantages are real and significant. But there’s a crucial difference between acknowledging these factors and hiding behind them as our sole explanatory framework.
When we default to luck or ethics as explanations, we’re engaging in what psychologists call fundamental attribution error in reverse. We attribute others’ success to external factors while attributing our own struggles to the circumstances we face. This might feel fair, might feel like we’re being appropriately humble or morally grounded, but it’s actually a sophisticated form of self-sabotage.
The alternative requires more courage and more honesty. It means approaching others’ achievements with genuine curiosity rather than reflexive skepticism. It means asking: What did they see that I didn’t? What did they prioritize that I overlooked? What risks were they willing to take that I wasn’t? What skills have they developed that I haven’t? How did they build relationships, networks, or reputations that created opportunities?
These questions are uncomfortable because they implicate us. They suggest that perhaps we could have made different choices, that perhaps there are things we still need to learn, that perhaps our current approach isn’t optimal. That discomfort is precisely why these questions are valuable.
I’ve watched this pattern play out in my own life and career. Early on, when peers succeeded, I had ready explanations. They had better connections, I told myself. They were willing to play political games I wouldn’t. They got assigned the high-visibility projects. Each explanation was partially true, but each also allowed me to avoid examining what they were doing that I wasn’t.The shift came when I forced myself to study people I’d dismissed. I started asking successful people about their thought processes, their strategies, their mistakes. What I found surprised me. Yes, some had advantages I lacked. Yes, some had made ethical compromises I wouldn’t. But most had simply seen angles I’d missed, developed skills I’d neglected, or persisted through difficulties I’d given up on. Their success wasn’t mysterious or unearned. It was the compound result of a thousand small decisions I hadn’t noticed because I’d been too busy explaining it away.
This doesn’t mean becoming cynical or abandoning your values to chase success at any cost. It means recognizing that the universe of ethical, intelligent approaches to any challenge is larger than what you currently know. It means understanding that your current strategy, your current understanding, your current skills might not be sufficient, and that’s okay because they can grow.The people who advance fastest in any field are usually those who treat every peer’s success as a potential case study. They’re not naive about luck or unethical behavior, but they don’t lead with those explanations. They lead with curiosity. They ask questions. They steal ideas shamelessly. They recognize that even if they disagree with someone’s methods, understanding those methods makes them more capable, more strategic, more dangerous in the best possible way.
This mindset shift is especially crucial in moments of frustration or stagnation. When you’re struggling and others are thriving, the temptation to reach for easy explanations is strongest. But that’s precisely when the learning opportunity is richest. That’s when you most need to resist the comfortable narratives and ask the hard questions.
None of this is about self-flagellation or assuming you’re always wrong. Sometimes your assessment is correct. Sometimes people do just get lucky. Sometimes they do succeed through means you rightly reject. The key is making that a conclusion you arrive at through investigation rather than an assumption you start with.The next time you find yourself explaining away someone’s success, pause. Notice the explanation you’re reaching for. Then ask yourself: Am I being insightful, or am I being defensive? Am I learning, or am I protecting myself from learning? The answer might be uncomfortable, but discomfort is often the price of growth.
Success leaves clues, but only for those willing to look for them instead of looking away.
