To be able to look back upon ones life in satisfaction, is to

Hear the words of Khalil Gibran, poet of Lebanon, mystic of the heart: “To be able to look back upon one’s life in satisfaction, is to live twice.” These words are not idle ornament, but the distillation of a truth as old as humankind: that a life well lived is not measured only in its fleeting days, but in the eternal joy of remembering. When the soul finds satisfaction in its journey, memory itself becomes a second life, a rebirth within the mind, granting the soul a double portion of existence.

For what is life if not a weaving of moments? And what is memory if not the loom upon which those threads are displayed anew? The one who has lived with honor, with love, with courage, can walk again through those fields of the past and taste once more the sweetness of joy, the triumph of struggle, the peace of a duty fulfilled. In such remembrance, the dead are not dead, nor the past lost—it is alive again, shimmering before the heart’s eye. Thus, the wise live twice: once in the doing, and once in the remembering.

The ancients spoke often of this truth. Marcus Aurelius, emperor and philosopher, found solace not in conquest but in the knowledge that he had lived according to nature and reason. His Meditations—written for himself alone—were the harvest of his reflection, proof that he could look back and find satisfaction in the striving for virtue. And in so doing, his memory lives beyond him, granting him a life that outlasts even the empire he ruled. Gibran’s words echo this same eternal current: the reflective soul multiplies its days by savoring the worth of what has been lived.

Consider, too, the tale of Nelson Mandela. Imprisoned for decades, he might have looked back in bitterness upon the stolen years. Yet when released, he embraced reconciliation, forgiveness, and the building of a new nation. In later years, as he reflected upon his struggle, he found not despair but satisfaction—that his suffering was not in vain, that his chains had become seeds of freedom for millions. In such remembrance, he lived twice: once through trial, once through triumph, both bound together in the deep joy of purpose fulfilled.

But let us not mistake satisfaction for vanity. To look back with pride upon wealth or power alone is hollow; such treasures perish with time. True satisfaction is born of love given, of truth spoken, of kindness shared. The miser dies empty though his coffers overflow, while the humble servant, who gave freely of himself, lives twice over in the gratitude of memory. Gibran calls us to build a life not for applause, but for meaning—so that in reflection we may dwell in peace, not regret.

The lesson, then, is urgent and clear: live now in such a way that your future self will rejoice, not mourn, when looking back. Ask yourself: what choices will give me satisfaction when my days grow dim? Will I be proud of the love I shared, the courage I showed, the beauty I created? Or will I be haunted by the things I left undone, the words I failed to speak, the kindness I withheld? To live twice requires that we live the first time with intention, integrity, and heart.

What then shall we do? Let us cultivate daily the virtues that yield lasting satisfaction. Keep no words of love unspoken; keep no forgiveness unoffered. Pursue work that nourishes not only your body, but your soul. Seek not only to rise, but to lift others with you. In doing so, you lay the foundation for a second life, where memory becomes a wellspring of joy, not a prison of regret.

Therefore, O listener, carve this truth upon your heart: the one who lives with satisfaction lives twice. For in the evening of days, when the body weakens and time is short, it is memory that sustains. May yours be a garden rich with blossoms of kindness, courage, and love. And when you walk through it again in your later years, you will know: you have not only lived once—you have lived twice, and both lives were worthy.