The Problem With Finding Your Purpose
I think “finding your purpose” might be one of the most damaging pieces of self-help advice ever created.
Not because purpose isn’t real, of course, but because we’ve turned it into a scavenger hunt.
Somewhere along the way, we collectively decided that every human being has one magical, hidden calling floating around in the universe like a misplaced set of car keys.
And until we find it supposedly we’re incomplete [lol].
So people spend years searching.
They take personality tests, buy courses, journal, vision board, stare into the middle distance while sad indie music plays in the background. Normal stuff.
They treat purpose like a missing artifact from an Indiana Jones movie while life actually passes them by. The problem isn’t that people lack purpose - it’s that people think purpose is something they discover instead of something they build.
I see this constantly in coaching.
Someone comes to me exhausted and frustrated, feeling like they lack meaning or a reason to justify their existence [which is a side soapbox for another time].
“I just don’t know what my purpose is.”
What they usually mean is:
“I don’t know what decision to make.”
Or:
“I’m afraid to choose.”
Or:
“I’m terrified of choosing the wrong thing.”
Because here’s the uncomfortable part of it: If purpose is something you find, then you’re not responsible for it.
You just have to keep looking until the next hit of serotonin.
But if purpose is something you create?
Now we’re talking about accountability.
Now we’re talking about action.
Now we’re talking about risk.
And people hate risk.
We’d much rather spend five years researching a decision than five minutes making one.
We tell ourselves we’re being thoughtful - but we’re just being scared.
The search for purpose often becomes the perfect hiding place: because as long as you’re searching, you never have to commit.
You never have to fail; you never have to discover that the thing you chose wasn’t quite right. You can stay safely suspended in possibility forever. Unfortunately, possibility is where dreams go to die.
Not failure.
Possibility.
Failure teaches you something; possibility just keeps you stuck. Possibility is romantic, wistful, ever ethereal and incorporeal.
As a death doula, I’ve spent time with people who knew they were running out of tomorrows; something interesting happens when time becomes visible.
The purpose question changes. Nobody says:
“I wish I had spent more time finding my purpose.”
They say things like:
“I wish I had started sooner.”
“I wish I had taken the chance.”
“I wish I had worried less.”
“I wish I had told them how I felt.”
“I wish I had trusted myself.”
Notice what’s missing?
Perfect certainty.
Nobody is mourning the fact that they didn’t have a crystal-clear life mission statement laminated and hanging on the wall. They’re grieving the life they postponed while waiting for certainty.
And honestly? I get it. Choosing is scary.
The moment you choose one path, a thousand others disappear [kinda, but that’s a future post].
That’s the deal.
But avoiding choices doesn’t preserve your options forever. It just lets time make the choice for you - and time is a ruthless little bastard.
People imagine purpose as lightning. It just seems to strike in the Hallmark version of our lives we create in our head. You’re just existing in a café, you look up out the window, and a convenient truck passes by and just enough of a keyword is unobstructed by other vehicles to hit you in the face with the THING - and your life is made new from there.
[Dear reader, that is most certainly not what happens.]
I think it’s more like gardening, actually. Now that it’s time for gardening in TN, I think about gardening because it’s how I spend my time. Everything is now about gardening. So here’s the garden metaphor:
You plant something.
You care for it.
You show up repeatedly.
Most days it looks like absolutely nothing is happening; then one day you look back and realize you’ve grown an entire life around it.
Purpose is often visible only in reverse.
That’s another thing nobody tells you: the people you admire rarely knew where they were headed when they started.
They just kept moving.
They followed curiosity.
They followed meaning.
They followed what felt alive. Then years later everyone else called it purpose.
Purpose isn’t a destination; tt’s what accumulates when your actions consistently align with your values.
That’s it.
Far less mystical. Far more useful.
So if you’re currently lamenting and panicking because you don’t know your purpose, I want to offer an alternative question:
Instead of asking:
“What am I supposed to do with my life?”
Try asking:
“What feels meaningful enough to pursue for the next six months?”
Not forever.
Not until death.
Just the next chapter.
The pressure drops immediately. You don’t need a map for the next thirty years; you just need enough courage for the next step. The irony is that purpose usually appears after movement, not before it.
The people waiting to find their purpose often remain exactly where they are while the people building their lives eventually stumble into it.
So maybe stop looking for The Thing.
Maybe stop treating your life like a puzzle waiting to be solved. Maybe your purpose isn’t hiding. Maybe it’s waiting for you to start.
And if you’re wrong?
Good.
Adjust.
Learn.
Keep going.
You are not a train locked to a track. You are a human being.
You’re allowed to change your mind, but you do have to move, because one day, whether we like it or not, the clock runs out.
-A