The Life I Built Looked Great — But Didn't Feel Right

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"If the ladder is not leaning against the right wall, every step we take just gets us to the wrong place faster."

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Stephen Covey

Years ago, I was living a life that looked impressive on paper.

A successful career as a fund manager in London.

A busy social calendar.

After-work Old Fashioneds at my favorite members’ bar.

A flat overlooking Hyde Park.

But inside, something was off.

Each achievement felt like it lost its significance almost as soon as it arrived — even the ones that should have felt fulfilling. There was always another milestone on the horizon, another level to reach. The satisfaction was fleeting, and I found myself constantly chasing the next goal without pausing to appreciate what I had already accomplished.

And I saw the same in those around me. Everyone believed there was a point where success would finally bring lasting happiness. So we all kept climbing, hoping the next step would get us there.

When My Body Said No (and I Kept Going Anyway)

Most mornings began with a sense of restlessness I couldn’t escape, my mind already racing before I even opened my eyes. There was always more to do than there was time, and that underlying pressure became an ever-present burden.

My body had been trying to get my attention for years. Stress, disrupted sleep, and too much reliance on coffee and evening drinks to manage energy became a pattern that took its toll. I promised myself many times that I would eat better, drink less and sleep more. But I kept on slipping back into the same unhealthy routines.

Even on weekends, when there was nothing urgent, I couldn’t relax. Some part of me demanded that I should be productive, not waste time.

By Sunday evening, I could already feel the weight of another demanding week ahead.

There was little time to pause, let alone reflect.

I was constantly in motion, but rarely felt alive.

Glimpses of the Sacred

There were moments of relief. Standing in front of a Rothko painting at the Tate Modern, the noise inside me fell silent. On late evenings, while sitting at my window with John Coltrane playing in the background and red buses rolling past Hyde Park, I could sense another reality beyond the grind on the streets below.

Art and music felt like doorways to something sacred. But fleeting ones.

A quiet voice kept whispering: Is this really it?

What I longed for — though I couldn’t yet name it — was deeper connection and inner freedom. To feel grounded, whole and alive in the present moment. Not just chasing the next milestone.

The TED Talk That Changed Everything

My journey into meditation started unexpectedly with a TED Talk.

One sunny afternoon, I sat in a small park near my favorite museum. Salad bowl in my lap and earbuds in. People around me were reading and chatting. A warm breeze carried possibility.

Andy Puddicombe’s TED Talk played through my headphones.

He shared insights from a Harvard study: nearly half our waking life is spent lost in thought. And this constant mind wandering is linked to unhappiness. His solution sounded simple: meditation.

Something in me lit up. What if the problem isn’t life itself, but the way I relate to my mind? For the first time, I felt hope that there was another way.

My First Attempts at Meditation

The next morning, I sat in my grandmother’s old olive-green velvet chair, the one I had brought from Berlin to London, and pressed play on a guided meditation.

My goal: just five minutes of practice after my first coffee. That felt manageable.

At first it was messy. I kept drifting off, lost whole minutes to thought and only realized it when the timer rang. Sometimes I even fell asleep during the meditation, still exhausted from overwork and late nights. 

But I stuck with it. A goal-driven part of me wanted to finish my self-imposed 30-day challenge. 

And something deeper kept me going too.

I remember one morning, early in that first month, being guided through a body scan. Feeling the contact points of my body against the chair was like a revelation. After years of living in my head, to really feel my body again was like coming home… It may sound simple, but to someone like me, who had been living entirely in his head for years, this was profound. It was the beginning of a reconnection with my body.

But the deeper  revelation came in the silence that followed. For a few short moments, I wasn't mentally preparing for meetings or planning the next move. I was simply present. I realized how much energy I had been spending on constant mental activity. In that space of stillness, I discovered something valuable: a sense of calm that didn't depend on what I accomplished that day.

Meditation became something more than just another “life hack.” It was a way back to aliveness and presence — and to a sense of inherent worth that didn't depend on achievement or external validation.

Living a Double Life

At work, I noticed that I was sharper and more focused. I could concentrate on a task more easily, without my mind wandering to the next ten things. Stress didn't overwhelm me as quickly. I started to gain more control over how I related to what was happening around me.

Something was beginning to change.

I had already started making unconventional choices, such as going back to university to study art history in the evenings. Standing in front of Francis Bacon’s raw portraits, I felt a spark of aliveness that spreadsheets could never give me. Some of my colleagues teased me: “Back to being a student again?” they would joke over drinks. A few, however, were genuinely curious, even inspired. But the subtext was always the same: these creative pursuits were seen as indulgent, not serious.

Something in me was rebelling against that narrative. Yet the counterpull was strong. The industry’s gravity. My own conditioned beliefs about financial security. The constant need to prove myself through achievement. And beneath it all, the old fear still echoed: if I stopped striving, I would fall behind while everyone else kept climbing.

During the day, I was working in the high-stakes, high-achieving culture of the finance world — head down, suit on, performance-driven. In the mornings, I sat quietly, following my breath. It was a realm of presence, embodiment, and questioning what really mattered. 

At times it felt like living a double life.

In a fast-paced, results-driven environment, meditation was often seen only as a relaxation tool or, worse, a distracting self-discovery trend that could make you lose your ambition.

When the Spark Faded

After the initial excitement, progress plateaued. The app meditations felt repetitive. The streaks I had been proud of — 30 days, 60, 90 — began to feel meaningless. 

Life got busier. More work demands, my art studies became more time-consuming, a new relationship with someone who didn’t share the same enthusiasm for meditation. The thought crept in: Maybe I’ve already gotten what I needed from this.

Still, something pulled me back. Curiosity. A quiet knowing there was more to uncover.

Books and podcasts opened new doors to what was possible. A new flatmate, who followed her path with trust and questioned convention, encouraged me to give intuition more space than just my CV.

The Truth I Couldn’t Ignore

One evening, unable to switch off, a line from a book by Stephen Covey I had read years ago came back to me. It felt like a wake-up call I couldn’t ignore:

“If the ladder is not leaning against the right wall, every step we take just gets us to the wrong place faster.”

Deep down, I knew: that was me.

I had been incredibly focused on climbing higher, but I'd never stopped to ask whether the path I was on would actually lead to the life I wanted.

I had been succeeding by most external measures. But success without fulfillment felt hollow.

Worse, I saw my life was built on a fragile foundation — money, recognition, lifestyle — things that could vanish overnight. Covey emphasized that real freedom doesn’t come from chasing what’s outside, but from building on timeless principles that don't change with circumstances.

At that moment, I realized that I needed to design my life and career around my values, not just my ambitions. I had built something substantial for myself, but I wanted to build something that also felt meaningful and resilient.

It wasn’t easy to admit. I had invested years of focus, effort, and identity. Redirecting my life meant facing uncertainty.

But meditation was teaching me something else. To sit with discomfort, to feel fear without being consumed by it, and to notice thoughts without believing them. 

And slowly, the longing to live more aligned began to outweigh the fear of change.

A Pause I Had Never Allowed Myself

With that growing clarity I could see more clearly what was right for me and what wasn’t. And with that came real changes in my life.

I left London, knowing its pace and work-culture no longer fit who I was becoming.

And I gave myself something I had never allowed before: a pause.

I took a four-month sabbatical before my next professional move. It was time to step back and gain perspective on what kind of work and lifestyle would fit me best long-term, as well as to work on some passion projects I had been pushing to the side for years.

I traveled through Southern Europe by train with a backpack and a few good books, living simply and fully.

On the train rides between cities, I would lean against the window, watching the landscapes of Southern Europe stretch out before me. Vineyards, coastlines and mountains passed by. My thoughts slowed alongside the ever-changing scenery, without the old urge to be productive.

One night in Seville, I stumbled into a small flamenco bar. The heat was heavy, sweat dripping, the music raw and intense. My whole body vibrated. For the first time in years, I felt utterly alive.

Later, I moved to the South of France for a few months and experienced a different rhythm that felt well-aligned. I went on morning runs along the coast, swam in the cold sea, and ate breakfast on my balcony overlooking the mountains. I took French classes in a café in the afternoon. I adapted to the town's slower pace — accomplishing what was needed without rushing — and discovered a way of living that was entirely new to me.

A Return to Berlin, A Return to Myself

Eventually, I moved back to Berlin. I joined a smaller, more value-aligned company. It wasn’t a radical change yet, but it was a conscious shift. I wanted to work somewhere with a healthier culture and where I could have more autonomy and impact.

I also began to truly care for my physical health. I focused on sleep, tracked it with my first Oura ring, and cut caffeine in the afternoons. I finally started to wake up rested — and it felt good.

I shifted to a nourishing, mostly plant-based diet, drank less, and discovered the richness of being clear and present rather than numbed by alcohol. I felt stronger, healthier and more energized than I had in years.

But the bigger change wasn’t external. It was how I felt inside my life.

The restlessness softened.

I didn’t need weekends stuffed with activities to feel alive.

I could walk through a park and actually see and sense the trees.

I could sit with myself in silence without becoming restless.

As I deepened my meditation practice, I began to experience more moments when I felt supported by something greater than myself. Glimpses of the potential of meditation that I had read so much about.

During those moments, I was reminded that my worth didn't depend on achievement, and that true happiness wouldn't be found by chasing the next milestone.

If You’re Where I Was…

To anyone reading this who is where I was — successful on paper but quietly dissatisfied, waking up most mornings with a subtle sense of restlessness, wondering if this is all there is — I want to say this:

You're not alone in feeling this way.

This restlessness is actually pointing toward something important.

And yes, there is another way to live.

Even on the busiest days, it’s possible to train clarity, connection, joy, and resilience.

You don't have to abandon ambition or dreams. But it does ask you to pause, to listen, and to question what you’ve been told about success. And to be brave enough to turn inward. Because that’s where the real journey begins.

This path isn’t just about stress relief or productivity.

It’s about remembering who you are beneath the striving.

And from there, building a life that feels as good on the inside as it looks on the outside.