Nathalie Buschor
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When success alone no longer fulfils – Ivan Ilyich and the question of a life well lived

October 4, 2026

"So I went downhill at an even pace, imagining that I was going uphill. And so it was. In public opinion I was going uphill, and at the same pace life was slipping away beneath my feet …"
— Leo Tolstoy, The Death of Ivan Ilyich

For years we have worked, taken on responsibility and pushed ourselves forward. We have achieved a great deal, sometimes more than we expected. And at some point a question arises that we did not see coming: What is all this actually for?

How long do I want to keep going like this? Do I even still want it? And why, after everything we have achieved, does the question of happiness and a fulfilled life press on us with such urgency?

I encounter these questions again and again in my work. People are talented, carry responsibility, have built up prosperity and opportunities. Much has succeeded. And yet they feel an emptiness.

That is unsettling. Those who are successful on the outside often expect themselves to be content as well. Perhaps there is even a sense of shame: Am I allowed to feel empty when I have so much?

Yes. A successful life, too, needs room for the question of whether it feels right from the inside.

Achieved so much – and still missed life?

Literature has known this upheaval for a long time. In Goethe's Faust, a scholar who has studied everything stands at the limits of his knowledge. His search for understanding has not satisfied his hunger for life. In Tolstoy's The Death of Ivan Ilyich, a respected judge, facing death, looks back on a life that seemed successful. One seeks a new beginning, the other stands at the end. Both are struck by the question of whether, in all their striving, they have missed what truly matters.

Ivan Ilyich has a respected position, a family and a life that conforms to society's expectations. Only when facing death does he begin to doubt:

"What if I have not lived as I ought to have?"

Looking back, he recognises a frightening contradiction: while he was rising in public opinion, life was slipping away from him.

For me, this is the pressing question of the story: How do we measure whether our life is succeeding? By what others recognise? By what we can show for ourselves? And what place do our relationships, our joy and what sustains us inwardly have in all this?

Making room for ourselves – and turning towards others

At the end, Tolstoy leaves room for change. When Ivan Ilyich turns towards the suffering of his loved ones and feels compassion, his relationship to dying changes.

My reading is this: the decisive movement leads out of the tormenting preoccupation with oneself and into relationship with others.

For our own life questions, I see an impulse in this. We need room to perceive and understand ourselves: What hurts? What is missing? What do we long for? When we find words for this, we can also turn towards others more openly again.

This requires kindness towards ourselves, patience and the willingness to accept our own vulnerability. Precisely those who have driven themselves forward for years often find this difficult. They are used to answering difficulties with even more effort. Now, perhaps for the first time, they need permission to pause.

What does this mean in practice?

Simply carrying on until the end would be a missed opportunity. What is needed is a pause. Our own permission to reflect without immediately having to set a new goal.

And the willingness to ask honestly:

  • What still fulfils me?
  • What have I neglected along the way?
  • For whom and for what do I want to use my abilities?
  • Which wounds or hurts still linger and need attention – perhaps even reconciliation?

Especially when there is outer wealth and many possibilities, inner wealth may grow too. Perhaps that means giving time to a friendship again. Taking on a task whose value is hard to quantify. Engaging with faith, beauty or one's own finitude. Or acknowledging that something in one's life so far needs to change.

Philosophical and religious traditions can be conversation partners along the way. For centuries, people have asked what makes a life worth living and what is worth investing time, energy and talents in. Their answers can broaden and challenge our own ideas.

We do not have to carry these questions alone

People help. Old friends who knew us before titles and successes came along. A sparring partner with whom uncomfortable questions can be spoken aloud. Someone who asks gently, is allowed to go deeper and helps carry the search for answers.

In my work, I want to create room for such conversations. The professional and the personal belong together: it is the same person who leads, performs, loves, doubts and searches for direction.

Together we can explore what they want to preserve, what has run its course and what may grow. We also look at hurts that hold them back and at possibilities that have so far had little room. Concrete steps can emerge from this – sometimes a small shift, sometimes a bigger change.

We do not have to wait until the end to ask these questions. We may ask them in the middle of life. Especially when so much has become possible.

Literature