Is my value defined by my performance?

Or what's the acutal meaning of life?

Today I was sitting in a lovely little café by the beach in Goa, India, enjoying a delicious cappuccino with my partner. Everything was beautiful. And yet, I felt a sense of guilt. A feeling that has been accompanying me for quite some time now.

Why?

Because I feel unproductive.

The German saying “First work, then pleasure” has been with me since childhood. School holidays had to be earned. After all, the rest of the year was filled with exams, homework, classes, and chores. When I boarded a plane for a vacation—after having worked ahead, organized everythin—I felt I had earned it. More than that: I needed it. I had worked so much beforehand that I felt completely drained and in need of recovery.

But simply going on vacation without having “done something” beforehand? That is difficult for my German nature. When I voiced my concerns this afternoon, my Spanish partner laughed and said:“Kathrin, life is meant to be enjoyed. And isn’t this beautiful?”

And honestly—yes, it was breathtaking. Palm trees, lush greenery, the ocean, the beach. And still, I felt guilty because I hadn’t worked on anything in the past few days. Okay, I had been sick. But what about the month before? I barely worked at all. I was traveling through Spain and India. I hadn’t taken a course, hadn’t achieved anything “big”—at least from my perspective.

So am I only allowed to enjoy something if I have achieved something first? Is enjoyment always tied to reward?

If I’m completely honest—and if I listen to the people around me—most would answer this question with “yes.” I can still hear my father’s voice saying, “When you’re young, you have to achieve something.” And even though my mother is not quite as performance-oriented, she too sees doing nothing as justified only if one has worked hard before.

So first work, then enjoy.

Interestingly, when you travel, you encounter many other cultures. In countries like Australia or France, this mindset is far less rigid. Quite the opposite: people work in order to earn money so they can then travel and enjoy life. When the money runs out, they either return home or find ways to earn money while traveling. But the idea that simply relaxing or enjoying life must first be “earned” is completely foreign to these cultures. Life, after all, is meant to be enjoyed. La dolce vita.

I noticed the same pattern in myself while walking the Camino de Santiago. Before allowing myself a break, I felt I had to walk a certain number of kilometers first. My Italian companions saw it differently. No matter how many breaks we took, we would arrive eventually. And so, with them, the espresso break often came after just one hour of walking.

I see similar behavior in myself when hiking. I rarely allow myself a real break before reaching the summit. Partly so I don’t get tired—but also because otherwise I feel like I haven’t reached the goal yet.

And this thought keeps returning.

Today, on the way to our new accommodation, I asked myself whether I would feel the same way if I had several million euros in my bank account.

And interestingly, the honest answer was: yes.

Which led me to the bigger question:

What is actually the real meaning of life?

My deepest intention in life is to learn and experience as much as possible, and to support people through emotional difficulties and challenges. Even while traveling—even if it’s not classical coaching or systemic constellation work—I find myself talking to people about their fears, worries, and belief systems.

So what actually counts as “work” or “performance”?

What is the purpose we are pursuing in life?

Perhaps it is not about earning as much money as possible through work. Of course, we need something to live on. But our society has an intense drive toward earning more and more. And if that money suddenly disappears—through a bad investment, high expenses, or loss of value—we fall into crisis. All stability seems to collapse.

But does absolute security even exist?

Money itself is neutral. It is simply a medium of exchange that allows us to buy things and experiences. Studies have shown that beyond an annual income of around 80,000 EUR, happiness increases only marginally.

So what do we really need to be happy?

Of course, if I can barely pay rent, live in a shabby room, buy only the cheapest products, or constantly worry about bills, my level of happiness is threatened. But beyond basic security—what do we need to be happy without constantly having to perform?

Can we live la dolce vita?

And do we always need financial security for that—or are we allowed to trust in abundance? To trust that we will create exactly the income we need when we need it?

I began to wonder: when does scarcity arise instead of abundance? And what does it take to truly follow our purpose in life?

Many people I know say they don’t have a clear purpose—or they are still searching for it. But then why are we here?

In Buddhism, the answer is simple: to be happy.

In many spiritual books I’ve read over the years, the focus was on growing as a soul—on gathering experiences.

So what, then, is meaningful?

And what defines a successful life?

My partner said to me today: “You probably feel so bad because you spend too much time on Instagram.”I grimaced. He was right.

Just recently, I felt terrible seeing people my age who had already written multiple bestsellers, hosted successful talk shows, or run fully booked courses. Lars Amend once said that we only ever see success as if it happened overnight—but never the path leading there. Never the attempts. Never the years in between.

Today I remembered Paulo Coelho, who published his first bestseller only after the age of 40. What did he do before that? Was he a successful entrepreneur—or more of a full-time hippie? I honestly don’t know. But does it make any difference to the value of his books? Did he consider his life unsuccessful before fame and money arrived?

I don’t know.

What I do know is that in recent days, I’ve found happiness in the small things: waking up next to my favorite person, hearing the ocean while I work, eating dinner with my hands, feeling better after weeks of being sick, receiving a smile from a small child on the beach, or simply looking at the sea and trying—for a few minutes—to truly be present.

So what is the meaning of life?

Living a life that others consider successful?

In my first job, someone once said to me: “Kathrin, I have a company car now. The neighbors will look.”So are we only successful once others can see our success? Only when we receive external recognition?

If I’m honest, I still struggle to let go of the idea that my life is only successful if I have created something tangible. And yet, interestingly, it works like this: last year, I thought writing one book would be enough. Now I love writing so much that I want—and feel called—to write more books.

Life is long.

And so our perspective on its meaning keeps changing.

Where Does This Performance Mindset Come From – Especially in Germany?

While writing this article, I began researching and reflecting on my own work experience.

Performance pressure in Germany has deep historical and cultural roots. One of the most influential factors is the Protestant work ethic, described by Max Weber. Work was not merely a way to earn a living, but a moral duty. Qualities such as diligence, discipline, reliability, and a strong sense of duty were idealized and seen as virtues. Performance thus became a measure of human worth, while laziness or inactivity were considered moral failings—a mindset that still persists today.

Historically, Germany developed as a performance-based status system. Good education leads to good jobs, which promise social and material security. Deeply ingrained in the collective memory are experiences of war, displacement, poverty, inflation, and reconstruction—the fear of losing one’s existential foundation. Performance, therefore, does not only serve self-realization, but also protects against social and financial decline.

This logic begins early in the education system: grades, school types, access to universities and programs. Whether someone will become a good doctor, teacher, or psychologist is often judged by school grades rather than actual abilities. Performance becomes measurable, and comparison starts in childhood.

For years, I tried not to make mistakes—not seeing them as learning opportunities, but as signs of inferiority. It was extremely important to me that no one would consider me “not smart,” even though I consistently had very good grades.

Germany prides itself on “Made in Germany,” on productivity and reliability—qualities that go hand in hand with a high internal pressure to perform. In professional settings, people are labeled “high performers.” In contrast, during unemployment, one becomes a “benefit recipient,” which places individuals in a position of justification. Only if I perform do I legitimize my place in society. Otherwise, I risk being seen as a failure.

Constant comparison and perfectionism reinforce this pressure. Criticism is often not treated as a learning opportunity; the focus lies almost exclusively on what doesn’t work rather than what already does. In Bavaria, there’s a saying: “No scolding is praise enough.” Funny—yet alarming.

Despite digital tools meant to make work easier, people do not work less. Quite the opposite. In my corporate years, I was one of the first to leave the office at 7 p.m.—and no one ever started work at 11 a.m. Studies show that long working hours do not necessarily increase productivity or quality. Yet social desirability plays a role: those who work long hours are seen as committed and diligent.

Even answering emails on weekends or during vacations is quietly admired. All of this reinforces the deeply rooted belief: “I must do something in order to be valuable.”

How is the situation in India for example?

In India, performance is closely tied to education, secure employment, financial stability, social status, and supporting one’s family. Here, performance is less about self-realization and more about survival and security.

It is associated with hope for a better life. Recognition, status, and stability matter more than perfection. At the same time, failure is often linked to shame and is rarely openly discussed.

In other cultures, performance is valued—but personal worth is not entirely dependent on it.

• What would happen if we stopped measuring our value by performance and instead focused on creating, shaping, and expressing ourselves from passion and love—rather than fear of losing our place in society?

• What would you do then?

• Would you still work late into the night for months or years?

• How would you design your life?

• And which activities would you pursue not because they earn money, but because you genuinely love them?

  
  

And most importantly:

• How would your sense of purpose change?