“The unhappy person is one who has his ideal… outside of himself… It is only the person who is present to himself that is happy.”
— Søren Kierkegaard
September 2012 is a month I remember vividly—not because of one specific event, but because it marked a time when everything in my life began to unravel. Until that point, my life had followed a familiar structure, a steady progression divided into three distinct chapters.
Childhood (0–10) was shaped by church, politics, and community. My grandfather, a respected local government official and church elder, exemplified leadership and faith. My father, a government administrator overseeing our division, would later become a regional governor.
My mother was still in high school when I was born, determined to complete her education. While she pursued her university studies, I was raised by my grandparents, along with my maternal aunts and uncles, in a bustling household that was both nurturing and dynamic. Although my family moved frequently, my childhood was filled with warmth, adventure, and a sense of responsibility. I spent my days excelling in school and my evenings playing, spending time with family, and doing chores. Weekends often meant helping at the family bar or working on the farm—routine tasks that instilled a strong work ethic and discipline in me. Somewhere between those early chores and schoolwork, I imagined myself as an astronaut—or maybe a businessman.
Adolescence (10–20): At the age of ten, I enrolled in a boarding school, where I spent seven transformative years, returning home only during Christmas, Easter, and summer holidays. The experience at boarding school dramatically expanded my worldview, allowing me to meet students from diverse cities and backgrounds. This structured environment reinforced the discipline I had learned as a child, allowing me to thrive in rigorous academic programs. Not only did I excel academically, but I also formed lasting friendships that continue to enrich my life today.
After graduating from high school, I embarked on an adventurous gap year to explore different paths. I considered attending medical school, joining the Cameroonian Air Force, and studying computer science at the University of Yaoundé. This year of exploration ultimately inspired me to move to the United States in the spring of 2002, where I began a new chapter in my journey with eagerness.
Early Adulthood (20–30): I threw myself into my studies. I initially pursued a computer science major, but a late-night debugging session in C++, where I had mistakenly placed a dot, revealed where I truly belonged. I switched to chemical engineering and thrived!
I graduated at the top of my class and went on to pursue a master’s degree in petroleum engineering, as I have always been drawn to the petroleum industry. During my studies, my social life mainly revolved around attending and hosting parties. As I neared the end of my undergraduate studies, I became more relaxed and decided to join the intramural soccer team. It was around this time that I started dating the girl who would become my wife. Larisa and I met in a process dynamics class, and I would often meet her at the library, where I spent a significant amount of time.
By September 2012, I had achieved everything I had once chased: a successful career in the energy sector, a family with our delightful one-year-old son Manu, and a respected position in my industry. I served as the vice president of the SPE Gulf Coast Section and stepped into my second role at SLB. On paper, my life looked perfect.
However, I couldn’t shake the feeling of unease. It was as if I were constantly performing, striving, and achieving, yet rarely taking a moment to pause. I lived for the next goal and feared what would happen if I stopped pursuing it. I realized that I had shaped my life around the expectations of others and my own without stopping to ask whether those goals still mattered.
That year, something shifted within me. The accomplishments I once chased no longer brought me fulfillment. It wasn’t failure I felt, but a deep sense of something absent. It wasn’t a breakdown—it was a wake-up call. I had spent a long time building a life that appeared successful but felt incomplete.
This clarity sparked a new chapter in my life. I didn’t abandon what I had built; instead, I began to rebuild from the inside out. This shift led to the creation of tools like the LifeMap—a framework I now share with others navigating similar turning points.
My journey hasn’t ended. But now, I approach it differently—being present, curious, and fully engaged.
GHISLAIN FAI-YENGO 