When I look back on my life, apart from being bullied and feeling excluded during parts of my childhood, I had a relatively stable upbringing. I did well in school, achieved decent results, and at a young age began building a life that many people would recognize as successful.
I met my wife when I was twenty, bought my first home at twenty-four, moved in together, got married, and not long afterward we had children. I had a good career at Rabobank, eventually growing into a leadership position, while being given countless opportunities to learn, develop, and expand my skills.
From the outside, the picture looked right
From the outside, the picture looked right. Yet there was something I noticed from an early age. Not so much within myself, but in the people around me. I saw how much energy was invested in meeting expectations. How hard people worked to build a certain life, achieve a certain status, or maintain a particular image. And while I could see that it sometimes brought them success, I sensed something else beneath the surface.
Behind many of those achievements was a kind of emptiness that was difficult to describe. It was as if the exterior kept becoming more polished, while the foundation underneath wasn’t always as solid as it appeared.
At the time, I couldn’t quite put my finger on it
I didn’t have the language for it yet. But somewhere deep down, I already knew that the outside could never be the most important thing.
And yet, I followed the same path.
Not because I cared much about status or recognition, but simply because I was capable of meeting the expectations placed upon me. When you’re good at something, it’s tempting to keep going in that direction. You receive appreciation, opportunities, and validation. Before you know it, you’re building a life that looks right on paper without regularly asking yourself whether it truly fits who you are.
That became painfully clear to me in 2014
Although everything appeared fine on the outside, I felt increasingly empty on the inside. Eventually, I burned out. Looking back, I don’t see that burnout as a sign that my life had failed. Quite the opposite. It was the moment I began to realize that success and fulfillment are not the same thing.
That period forced me to ask different questions. No longer: How can I grow further? But: What exactly am I growing toward? No longer: How can I sustain this life more effectively? But: Does this life still align with who I truly am?
That became a turning point
In the years that followed, I started my own coaching business. I invested in education, mentorship, and business coaching. I developed myself as an entrepreneur and, fairly quickly, built a thriving practice. Later came online programs and eventually a book. Once again, it seemed as though everything was unfolding according to plan. But something else happened as well.
Over time, I began recognizing the same dynamic all over again.
Not the exact same pattern, but the same underlying lesson
Because entrepreneurship can become another outside. A mission can become another identity. Even personal development and consciousness work can turn into something you unconsciously use to define yourself or prove yourself through. That realization played an important role in the creation of the School for Authentic Wisdom.
Together with Nico, I increasingly felt that we didn’t want to build just another organization focused primarily on growth, visibility, or success. There is nothing inherently wrong with those things. But they should never become more important than the place they arise from. The inside has to be right first. Not because life suddenly becomes easy when it is, but because otherwise you spend an enormous amount of energy maintaining something that doesn’t genuinely belong to you.
That may be one of the most important lessons I’ve learned over the past decade
Many of us try to organize the outside of our lives first, hoping that inner peace will follow. We believe that more success, more security, more income, or more recognition will eventually give us what we’re looking for. My experience has been the opposite.
When the inside doesn’t align, it takes tremendous energy to keep the outside together. Life becomes a project. There are always balls to keep in the air. Success becomes something that must be defended. Freedom turns into another obligation.
But when the inside does align, something shifts. Choices become simpler. Not necessarily easier, but more honest. You spend less energy maintaining an image because you’re no longer living according to expectations. You’re living according to what genuinely matters to you.
That doesn’t mean I’ve found all the answers. Far from it. I continue to encounter myself. I continue to discover new layers. I continue to see how tempting it is to attach value to the outside once again. But perhaps that’s simply part of being human.
For me, freedom is not about creating the perfect life
It’s about having the courage to keep listening when the inside knows something that the outside hasn’t caught up with yet. And perhaps, in the end, that’s one of the most important questions we can ask ourselves:
Am I building a life that looks good? Or am I building a life that truly fits?
