Friedrich Nietzsche proposed a test for a well-lived life. He called it the eternal recurrence.
The idea: imagine you had to live this exact life again. Infinitely. Every moment, every decision, every mistake, every loss. Not a better version. Not a second chance. This one. Exactly as it happened.
Could you say yes?
I came across this idea a few days ago and haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Not because I have a clean answer, but because I don’t. And the more I sit with it, the more I think the discomfort is the whole point.
Why it’s a useful test
Before I get into my own mess, I think Nietzsche was onto something real here.
Most of us don’t consciously evaluate how we’re living. We drift. Days turn into weeks, weeks into years, and we wake up one morning wondering how we got here. The eternal recurrence cuts through that drift in a way most questions don’t. It forces a gut check.
If your first reaction is “God, no, I wish I had done things differently,” that’s telling you something important. Not to spiral in regret, but to pay attention. To ask whether you’re living in a way that, at the end, you could actually stand behind.
I’ve always had a similar question I ask myself: would I be okay with how I lived if it ended tomorrow? Nietzsche’s version is harsher, not just okay, but willing to do it all over again. Forever. But they’re pointing at the same thing.
I’d rather regret something I tried than something I never had the guts to attempt. When I put my life through this test, that’s the lens I’m using.
My honest answer
Overall? Yes. I’m 38. I haven’t even hit the halfway point (I hope). But if I zoom out at my life so far, the French village I grew up in, Australia, Miami, four years on the road, landing in Bangkok, I can say yes. I’d do it again. The mistakes, the detours, the friendships that fell apart, the professional failures. All of it led somewhere worth being.
But there are a few moments where my brain just... stops.
And as always when I go deep on something like this, I come back to the infant losses.
Rosie and I went through four pregnancy losses. The hardest was the termination for medical reasons in 2017. I’ve written about it before, but I won’t pretend it gets easier to revisit. That experience was the most painful thing I’ve ever been through. The situation. The decision. The aftermath. Watching Rosie break, and breaking myself. Nearly losing her in the process. All of it.
Would I go through it again?
I have to be honest here, even though part of me, as a coach, feels like I should give you the growth narrative. You know the one: “It was awful, but it was necessary. It woke me up. Everything happens for a reason.”
That would be a lie.
That experience was a catalyst. It cracked me open in a way nothing else had. It’s the reason I started questioning how I was living, why I eventually “escaped the matrix” and built a life on my own terms. In this life, I can trace a direct line from that loss to everything I love about my life today.
But would I voluntarily go through it again, knowing how painful it would be, even knowing the outcome? I genuinely don’t know. I don’t think I could. It broke us individually. Rebuilding was hard. I don’t want to do it again. Ever.
Does that mean I’d choose to stay stuck in the matrix instead? That’s what this question feels like, being asked to choose between cutting off my left arm or my right. I’d like to believe that even without that experience, I would have found my own way to wake up eventually. Through other experiences, other breaking points, other moments of clarity. But I’ll never know that.
And I think that’s okay.
The part nobody tells you
Nietzsche’s test isn’t really asking whether every moment was worth it. Some moments aren’t. Some things that happen to us are genuinely terrible and we’d be lying to ourselves if we dressed them up as gifts.
What the test is really asking is: in spite of those moments, do you stand behind the arc of your life?
And there, I can say yes.
I’m not at peace with everything that happened. I never fully will be. But I’m at peace with how I responded to it. With the choices I made in the wreckage. With the life I built on the other side of it.
That’s a different kind of yes. Not “I’d choose the pain again.” But “I’d choose who I became because of it.”
I think that’s the honest version of passing the test.
Where this leaves you
Most of us, when asked about our lives, give the surface-level answer. “I’m good. Things are fine.” It’s the socially acceptable response. The mask we wear without even noticing.
But deep down, we can feel the truth.
This question is uncomfortable for a reason. If something bubbles up when you sit with it, that’s worth paying attention to. Not to spiral, but to get honest with yourself, maybe for the first time in a while.
Nobody else is going to do this evaluation for you. And the sooner you do it, the more time you have to actually do something about it.
So one more time:
If you had to live your life exactly as it is, all of it, would you say yes?
And if not, what would need to change?
J
Like Keith, I too love this question. I think lol
I do need to think about it however there is something that I would definitely do differently. I spent an important part of my life focusing on working. Too much time, to the detriment or personal relationships. I would change that.
Don't get me wrong I enjoy my single lifestyle - probably too much - but I regret not investing enough into some relationships.
I absolutely love this question and your response to it. I stopped to think for myself before I read the article and it really had me stumped. I’m actually sitting in an airport with nothing but time and I just felt stunned. Totally stunned by my lack of ability to begin sorting through this. Eventually I identified the stumbling blocks in my life. The pain, setbacks, and trauma. Would it be worth it again? I’m happy with where I am in life-it took me long enough to get to this point-but I am satisfied with how it’s going, now. Would I be here if I changed those tougher times? Who would I be if I wasn’t bullied so badly when I was younger? Would I have this life of freedom had I not gone through a typically difficult divorce? Probably not. But still, I want to sit with this question a little longer. I predict I’d do it all again, but it’s worth the effort to really look back at the things you didn’t like about your life and see the value they bring to your present day.
Thanks for the post!