I have never considered myself deeply immersed in the world of art.
My relationship with it is simpler than that.
I visit museums and exhibitions. I stand in front of paintings and wonder about the people who created them. I think about the eras they lived in, the stories behind their work, and the emotions their creations awaken in me.
And through all those encounters, one artist has consistently touched me more than any other:
Vincent van Gogh.
Whenever I travel to a city that holds one of his works, I try to visit. Some of my most memorable travel experiences have been unexpected encounters with temporary exhibitions dedicated to him—moments when I lost all sense of time while wandering through the world he left behind.
Perhaps what draws me to Van Gogh is not only his art.
It is the way he lived.
Becoming Part of Something Larger Than Ourselves
In his book Authentic Happiness, Martin Seligman describes transcendence as one of the six core virtues that contribute to human flourishing.
Transcendence is the ability to connect ourselves to something larger than our individual existence.
It is found in moments of awe.
In beauty.
In nature.
In art.
In science.
In those rare experiences that remind us there is more to life than our daily concerns.
According to Seligman, transcendence includes gratitude, hope, optimism, purpose, and the belief that life carries a meaning larger than ourselves.
And passion—the willingness to devote our heart and energy to something we deeply care about—is often part of that experience.
Whenever I encounter Van Gogh’s life, his paintings, or his words, I am reminded of these ideas.
Despite hardship, rejection, financial struggle, and personal suffering, he never abandoned his commitment to creating.
He refused to stop noticing beauty.
He refused to stop believing that his work mattered.
There is something profoundly inspiring about that.
The Question We Ask Most Often
Many of us spend a great deal of time thinking about what we expect from life.
We make plans.
Set goals.
Build careers.
Imagine futures.
We think about our relationships, our families, our work, and our aspirations.
And beneath many of those reflections sits a familiar question:
“What has life given me?”
Have my expectations been met?
Am I where I hoped I would be?
What have I gained?
Year-end reflections, birthdays, career milestones—all seem to invite some version of this personal accounting exercise.
We evaluate.
Measure.
Compare.
Adjust.
Then we create new expectations and begin again.
A Different Question
For some time now, I have been fascinated by what happens when we reverse the question.
Instead of asking:
“What has life given me?”
What if we ask:
“What have I given to life?”
That simple shift changes everything.
Because life is not merely a collection of experiences that happen to us.
It is also the collection of relationships we build, conversations we have, places we touch, work we create, and the impact we leave behind.
Part of me believes we should remain humble.
After all, our lives occupy only a tiny moment within the vast history of the world.
Compared with billions of years of existence, our few decades seem almost insignificant.
Yet another part of me believes that everything meaningful about humanity begins precisely there—in individual acts of growth, kindness, courage, creativity, and integrity.
Human history itself has been written through the actions of ordinary people who chose to contribute something beyond themselves.
Perhaps the answer lies in balance.
Remaining humble while still recognizing our responsibility.
Contributing without seeking greatness.
Leaving a mark without becoming consumed by ego.
Adding value to the worlds we inhabit—large and small.
The Fire That Keeps Us Creating
Today, Van Gogh is celebrated as one of history’s most influential artists.
Yet during his lifetime, he sold only one painting.
One.
And still he continued.
He painted relentlessly.
Not because the world rewarded him.
Not because success was guaranteed.
But because something inside him compelled him to create.
Years ago, while visiting an exhibition dedicated to his work in the Italian city of Otranto, I came across a quote that moved me deeply.
It said:
“If after my death, even one person looks at my paintings and meets me in that feeling, then I will not have lived in vain.”
More than a century after his death, millions of people have encountered his work.
His paintings continue to inspire, comfort, challenge, and move people across cultures and generations.
Perhaps that impact became possible because he remained loyal to the intention that guided him from the beginning.
He did not stop.
He did not give up.
And because of that, the rest of us gained the opportunity to see the world through his eyes.
The Ripple Effect We Rarely See
Every life creates a ripple effect.
Some of those ripples are visible.
Many are not.
Often we never fully witness the impact we have on others.
Not only because life is finite, but because we rarely get to see the next chapters of the people we influence.
Children absorb the behaviors of their parents.
Young professionals study their first managers more closely than those managers often realize.
We borrow courage from people we admire.
We adopt habits, attitudes, and beliefs from those who inspire us.
Every one of us is influencing someone.
Whether we are aware of it or not.
Viewed this way, life becomes something much larger than our individual stories.
A vast network of visible and invisible connections.
A continuous cycle of influence.
Perhaps Contribution Is the Real Legacy
When we think about legacy, we often think about achievements.
Awards.
Titles.
Recognition.
Success.
Yet the people who leave the deepest impressions are not always those who accumulated the most.
Often they are the people who contributed the most.
The people whose presence made others stronger.
Whose work created meaning.
Whose words offered encouragement.
Whose actions inspired possibility.
Perhaps this is what transcendence ultimately points toward.
Not becoming larger than life.
But becoming part of something larger than ourselves.
And perhaps the richness we sometimes notice in people who live with purpose comes from exactly that place.
Not from what life has given them.
But from what they have chosen to give back.
So maybe one of the most valuable questions we can ask ourselves is not whether life is meeting our expectations.
Maybe it is this:
What am I contributing to the life I have been given?
