Alright, let’s dive right in. Imagine we’re at a cozy café, the aroma of fresh coffee swirling around us as we lean in to chat about something that’s really taken the self-help world by storm: existentialism. I know, it sounds a bit intimidating at first, but trust me, it’s more relevant to our daily struggles than you might think. Ever had that nagging feeling that your life’s a series of mundane routines, like you’re just going through the motions? That’s existentialism tapping you on the shoulder, wondering if you’ve thought about what all of this really means. And no, we’re not talking about some academic black hole of philosophy here—this is about how those classic ideas of freedom, choice, and meaning are shaping today's self-improvement scene.
So, let’s get comfortable as we unpack what’s essentially an invitation to start asking the bigger questions about our lives, which, ironically, might just be the key to improving them. In a world full of quick fixes and “life hacks”, existentialism comes in like a breath of fresh air—or perhaps a dramatic gust of wind—reminding us that it’s okay to struggle with the idea of meaning, to feel uncertain, to even question why we’re hustling so hard in the first place. If you think about it, existentialism is like the grandparent of self-improvement. Not the kind that tells you you’re perfect just the way you are, but more the tough-love type that asks, “Okay, but what do you want, really? And are you sure you’re not just playing a role here?” This is where we meet Sartre, who’d probably scoff at all the curated Instagram posts claiming authenticity. Jean-Paul Sartre’s concept of “bad faith” is essentially what happens when we conform to what others expect of us, instead of pursuing what truly resonates with our sense of self. Sound familiar? Social media’s got us all putting on masks, doesn’t it? The “be authentic” narrative these days is kind of ironic, as everyone competes to show how effortlessly “real” they are. Sartre’s ideas call that out and push us to make choices based on genuine self-discovery—something that doesn’t necessarily come from a motivational YouTube video.
Then there’s Nietzsche, whose “will to power” could very well be the unofficial mantra of every hustle culture advocate out there. Now, I’m not saying Nietzsche would approve of #RiseAndGrind, but his thoughts on self-overcoming—pushing past limitations to become something greater—definitely have echoes in today’s rhetoric about personal growth. However, it’s a double-edged sword. Hustle culture often turns Nietzsche’s idea into an exhausting treadmill of self-optimization, leaving little room for those necessary moments of reflection—the ones where you decide whether all this striving even means anything to you personally. Nietzsche was big on rejecting society’s predetermined values and creating your own—not just aiming for six figures because that’s what everyone else says success looks like.
Meanwhile, we’ve got Camus sitting at the other end of the café table, possibly rolling his eyes at the absurdity of it all. He’d tell us that the struggle itself is where meaning is found. It’s about embracing the work—not because it guarantees a reward but because the very act of striving, of pushing that boulder up the hill again and again, is where the beauty lies. Think about how often we get caught up in goals and future results—lose weight, get promoted, finish that marathon. Camus would say, “Hey, the meaning isn’t in crossing the finish line; it’s in every single step you take to get there.” It’s a humbling perspective, especially in a world that celebrates constant achievement and overlooks the value of persistence for its own sake.
Ever feel paralyzed by choices? You’re not alone, and here’s where existentialism and modern self-help converge. The existentialists were all about choice—Kierkegaard, for instance, spoke of making a “leap of faith,” a notion that’s been co-opted by life coaches everywhere. Today, we’re overwhelmed by options—career paths, lifestyles, the endless stream of products promising happiness. This overload creates a kind of “decision fatigue” where, paradoxically, more choices make it harder to feel satisfied with any of them. It’s funny, in a way—our freedom makes us feel trapped. Kierkegaard’s idea, however, wasn’t about overthinking the pros and cons until you’re blue in the face, but rather trusting yourself enough to make a choice, and then committing to it wholeheartedly.
And what about responsibility? That’s a big one in existentialism. It’s the idea that you have to take ownership of your life, no excuses. Viktor Frankl, whose work with logotherapy underlined the importance of finding meaning even in suffering, inspires much of today’s resilience-focused self-improvement rhetoric. Frankl, having survived the Holocaust, argued that what kept people going wasn’t the promise of future happiness but the meaning they could derive from their circumstances. It’s this kind of radical accountability that permeates today’s wellness industry—though sometimes simplified into catchy, overly-glib affirmations like, “You are in control of your own happiness.” Still, the essence of Frankl’s message—that we can’t always control what happens, but we can choose our response—is a powerful thread that runs through many contemporary self-help practices.
Another aspect that stands out is how existentialist themes align with the concept of authenticity, especially in an era dominated by social media. We all know someone who posts photos of a perfectly arranged meal, accompanied by a caption that makes it sound like they’re having some deeply fulfilling experience, when in reality, they’re just trying to get those likes. Existentialism challenges us to go deeper, to be real beyond the surface level—to live in a way that isn’t dictated by what others expect or approve of. This is what makes “self-improvement” truly personal. It’s not about adopting a template for success; it’s about carving out your own path, with all the uncertainty and courage that requires.
But existentialism doesn’t just leave us wandering aimlessly; it points us towards action. The existentialists tell us that meaning isn’t handed to us—it’s something we create. This is why existential themes resonate so well with mindfulness movements today. Mindfulness teaches us to be present, to accept what is, and existentialism adds to this by reminding us that while we accept our current state, we also have the freedom—and the responsibility—to shape what comes next. In a way, it’s the best of both worlds: the Zen-like calm of accepting the now, paired with the drive to give it our own unique meaning.
And let’s not forget about death. Existentialism doesn’t shy away from it. In fact, it’s obsessed with death—not in a morbid sense, but because death is the ultimate reminder that our time here is finite. And that’s kind of liberating, isn’t it? If you’ve ever heard someone say, “Live like you’re dying,” well, there’s an existential twist to that. The awareness of our mortality gives weight to our choices—it’s why making decisions that align with our personal values matters so much. If life were endless, we might never feel the need to define who we are. This sense of urgency is reflected in modern self-help ideologies that push us to live fully, to take risks, and to make decisions we won’t regret when we eventually reflect on them at the end.
That brings us to the “existential crisis,” a term that’s been meme-ified to the point of absurdity. But in its essence, an existential crisis is the moment when the foundations of your life no longer make sense, and you’re left to rebuild—a potentially terrifying but profoundly important experience. Nowadays, personal development frameworks encourage us to see these moments as opportunities for growth, rather than as purely negative experiences. The idea is that these crises are a natural part of self-discovery—that confronting the void can actually lead to profound transformation, provided we’re willing to do the work of filling that void with something meaningful.
So here we are, still at our little café table, sipping on our lattes and maybe feeling a little more optimistic about all those times life’s felt pointless or overwhelming. Existentialism doesn’t offer the comforting certainty that other philosophies or self-help trends might. It doesn’t promise that everything happens for a reason, or that you’ll definitely achieve happiness if you just follow a set number of steps. What it offers instead is freedom—the freedom to choose, to create meaning, to accept that while life is absurd and sometimes deeply unfair, it’s also full of potential for beauty and significance. It’s this embrace of both the struggle and the freedom that has made existentialist thought such a powerful influence on contemporary self-improvement.
And as we finish up, let me leave you with this thought: It’s okay to not have it all figured out. It’s okay to question, to change, to make choices that are yours and yours alone. In the end, the path of self-improvement shaped by existentialism isn’t about achieving some fixed ideal of success; it’s about living a life that feels real, that feels like your own—no matter how imperfect, uncertain, or absurd it might seem. Now, go ahead and keep pushing that boulder up the hill, and remember to find some joy in the pushing itself. If nothing else, that’s where the real story begins.
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