When Everyone Else Seems to Know Their Purpose

I remember a couple of years ago, I was in a car with a friend. We were catching up, and he was telling me about all the things he’d been up to. I think we were 20 years old at the time. I’ve known him since high school, and he’s always been the kind of person who knew exactly what he wanted to do with his life — and then actually did it.

As he talked about his goals, his plans, his accomplishments, and how passionate and purposeful he was toward them, I remember saying straight up, “Wow, you’re so lucky.”
And he said, “It’s not luck, it’s drive.”
And I said, “That’s not what I meant. I meant you’re lucky to have found your purpose in life.”

Honestly, I was kinda jealous — not envious — just in awe. I felt like he was so blessed to just know. And I realized I didn’t have that same blessing. Not in that moment exactly, but it was something I’d always felt deep down — that quiet insecurity of not knowing what my purpose was.

Entering adulthood, I wanted to find that so badly. I wanted to know what I was good at, what I cared about, what would make my life meaningful. But no matter how much I thought about it, I couldn’t figure it out. I was still wandering, still trying to find something that clicked — something that made me feel like I had direction.

To me, having that kind of clarity felt like a divine anointing — something not everyone was guaranteed to have. Some people spend their whole lives searching for that sense of direction and never land on it. And there I was, sitting next to someone who confidently had it — who’d found his rhythm in life — and I named what most people would call “purpose.”

But he saw it differently. To him, purpose wasn’t something you “find” or something that’s “given.” It was something you fuel — through drive, through effort, through motion.
Whatever it was, I didn’t have it. And I wished I did.

Looking back now, I think what I was really trying to say was that purpose, when you truly feel it, is like an anchor in life. It gives your energy somewhere to go. It gives meaning to struggle. I saw in him something I hadn’t yet found in myself: that inner certainty, that quiet alignment between who he was and what he did.

The Pressure to Have It Figured Out

I’ve also had another moment like that — this time with my ex. From day one, he always knew what his purpose was. Or at least, he found it along the way and claimed it with conviction. He’d talk about it often — the clarity, the direction, the sense of responsibility that came with it. “And a few times, he asked me what my purpose was, I never had an answer. He would even try to help me find it — but I wasn’t comfortable with that. There’s a power imbalance when you know exactly what you’re doing and I don’t — when you start asserting your knowledge before I’ve even built the muscle to understand on my own. You’re not me; you don’t have that authority. You can support me, sure. But not by guiding me toward your version of purpose when I haven’t even recognized a direction shaped by my own values — not yours.

He’d also ask me how I planned on contributing to the world, what legacy I wanted to leave behind. I’m like, damn… I don’t even know what I want to eat for lunch — you’re asking me about legacy and the world. I’m just wondering if I’d even be satisfied for how my life looked if this was my last day on earth.

His purpose was so humanitarian, so ethical — it carried this moral weight and meaning that made me question myself. Meanwhile, all I ever really wanted was to be rich and live my best life. Not in a shallow way, but in a free way — to not be tied down, to experience everything, to live beautifully. At least if I’m rich, I can help others. At least if I’m not in survival mode, I can show up for others. At least if I know myself, I can bestow knowledge upon others. That’s the deeper aspect of what I was trying to say; I just didn’t have the language for it. So all I could say was, “live my best life.”

And when he asked, “How are you planning on doing that?” I didn’t have an answer. I never had an answer. And honestly, that’s always been one of my biggest insecurities growing up.

It’s that quiet panic that comes when you realize you’re not a kid anymore — that you’re supposed to make life choices now, be responsible, start shaping the future. But what happens when you don’t even know what shape you want it to take? I didn’t want to drift through life like a tumbleweed, running on autopilot, pretending I had it figured out. I wanted to want something real — to be happy, to be aligned with the life I was building. And if contribution to society was part of that, I couldn’t pour from an empty cup.

So I started thinking about purpose — what it really means, and what it should look like. Should it be tied to a career? To a role in someone else’s life? To a humanitarian effort? To something noble, selfless, world-changing? Or could it be something selfish — something that exists just for my own joy, my own fulfillment? Could it be something quiet, something that doesn’t leave a legacy but still feels complete?

I didn’t always sit there and philosophize about it, but deep down, it haunted me. That insecurity — of not knowing, of not having an answer when people asked, “What do you want to do?” — it made me question if maybe I was missing something that everyone else seemed to have.

And at times, I’d swing the other way entirely — I’d reject the whole idea. I’d think, why do we even need purpose in the first place? Why does everything in life have to be about contributing, producing, proving your worth? What if some people aren’t meant to contribute in that traditional sense? What if I don’t want to? What if “purpose” is just a story we invented to make ourselves feel important — to justify our existence so that life feels like it was worth living?

And maybe that’s the real question — not what your purpose is, but why you even feel the need to have one.

What Even Is Purpose?

Purpose isn’t just a definition — it’s a weight. Not the kind you look up in a dictionary — the kind people expect you to carry. The kind that makes you feel behind if you don’t have a direction. And the more I’ve paid attention, the more I’ve realized purpose isn’t just one thing. It’s layered — shaped by society, psychology, and spirituality — and most of what we believe about it is inherited.

The Societal Layer
In today’s world, purpose is often tied to productivity and contribution. You’re told that to be a meaningful person, you have to do something valuable — build, help, teach, lead, give back. It’s like your worth is measured by how useful you are to others or to the system. That definition fits perfectly into the capitalist and moral frameworks we’ve been raised in: you matter because you produce.

But what about the people who just want peace, or beauty, or freedom? What about the ones whose joy doesn’t look “productive” on paper? It’s like there’s no language for that kind of purpose — the quiet, personal kind that doesn’t revolve around contribution but simply around existing in a way that feels true.

The Psychological Layer
Then there’s the mental side of it. Psychologically, we’re taught that purpose is what keeps us from drifting — something that gives our lives shape. It doesn’t even have to be profound. It could be as simple as wanting to care for your dog, or master a skill, or wake up to a version of yourself you’re proud of. It’s not about morality or service; it’s about direction. Because without some sense of meaning to hold onto, the randomness of life can feel unbearable.

The Spiritual Layer
Spiritually, many of us are taught that purpose is a divine assignment — something God (or religion) expects us to fulfill. A mission. A calling. A reason we were put here. And if we don’t figure out what that is, then we’ve somehow failed the bigger plan.

It becomes a responsibility — not just to ourselves, but to something higher. Purpose is framed as service, devotion, obedience to a path that was chosen for us before we even understood what choice was. And with that comes pressure — the fear of disappointing the very force that created us.

The Existential Layer
Existentially, many people believe there is no built-in purpose at all — that life doesn’t come prepackaged with meaning. If there is no grand design, then purpose isn’t something we’re born with; it’s something we create. That idea can feel unsettling, because it means there’s nothing to uncover and no path laid out for us. But it also opens a kind of freedom — the possibility that meaning can come from anywhere we choose.

So when I ask myself, what does purpose even mean? I think the truest answer is this:
It means whatever story I decide to tell myself about why I exist.

And maybe that story doesn’t have to be grand or world-changing. Maybe it’s as simple as, I want to see what I can create and experience while I’m here.

The Simple Truth About Purpose

And that’s when it hit me. I thought about every moment I’d ever questioned my purpose — every time I felt like I was drifting with no direction. But this time, something clicked differently.

I realized I’ve been living in my purpose all along.

It’s not tied to achievements, accolades, or contributions to society. My purpose is in my very existence: I am breathing. I am alive. I am living. Simply by existing, I am fulfilling my purpose.

That realization flipped everything I thought I knew. If the purpose of a heart is to beat, then the purpose of a life is to live. What else could I possibly need?

But this world runs on systems: capitalism, religion, patriarchy, individualism — all telling us that people are only as valuable as what they produce. Purpose must be earned. You have to contribute something impressive just to justify your existence. And if you can’t, or don’t, then maybe you don’t matter. We’re taught that value isn’t innate — it’s conditional. Measured. Scored. Proved.

I used to believe that. I used to think purpose was some divine assignment outside of me — something to hunt, chase, or unlock. But now I see how backwards that was.

Spiritually, I know that I am not just this body — I am an eternal soul born to experience what life on Earth has to offer. My purpose isn’t something I’m meant to “find.” It’s something I am. It’s the act of being. It’s about showing up as myself — fully alive, fully present.

I was born with the purpose I thought I had to earn. That purpose is, and always has been, to be alive.

Being alive — and consciously choosing what to do with that existence, even if the choice is simply to exist — is purpose. That’s mine. For someone else, it might look different. But for me, that truth brings peace.

When I strip everything down — the expectations, the pressure, the obsession with legacy and contribution — what’s left is life itself. Breath. Awareness. The fact that I get to choose how I experience this existence. And that choice — that agency — feels sacred.

When I sit in that awareness — that “I’m alive, and that’s enough” — I feel awe. Like real, jaw-dropping awe. The more I learn about life, the more in awe I am — especially when I think about how existence even works when you tie in spiritual, scientific and esoteric knowledge. It’s crazy how layered everything is, how every little thing connects.

And me personally… when I felt that lack of purpose in my life — that feeling of being lost, unsure, insecure — I wasn’t really alive. I was breathing, existing, doing what I had to do, but I wasn’t actually feeling life. I bypassed it every single day for twenty years. I knew I was alive — obviously — but I didn’t know I was alive. There’s a difference.

The second I felt my life, everything shifted. It was like something woke up inside me that had been sleeping this whole time. It wasn’t some huge, dramatic moment; it was quiet, but it hit deep. For the first time, I wasn’t just in my head trying to figure out what I was supposed to be doing — I was in my body, in my breath, in the awareness that I exist.

And in that moment, I gained this strange kind of clarity — not about a plan or a path, it was the realization that nothing was missing. My life was already happening. My purpose wasn’t on hold until I became someone worthwhile. I didn’t need to earn my existence. I was already in it.

Even if you’re just existing.
Even if you’re not chasing ambition or legacy.
Even if you’re standing still for a while.

You’re not less meaningful because you don’t have a direction — you’re alive.

It’s simple — and that’s exactly why it’s so easy to overlook. You are literally alive. That alone is something miraculous that we forget to notice. Because we exist every day, it’s easy to take it for granted — to bypass the very thing that makes everything possible. But when I really let that awareness sink in, it shifted everything.

Because once you realize that meaning is built into existence itself, everything else becomes lighter. You don’t have to earn it. You don’t have to understand it. You just get to experience it — to breathe, to sense, to create, to feel, to change, to rest.

Being alive is the purpose. The rest is just how you choose to live it.

Purpose vs Intention

I’ve realized that direction doesn’t need to come from outside of me. Purpose is something I exist as. But intention is how I choose to live it.  And those choices align consciously through my health, my wealth, my peace, my spirituality, and my existence as a whole. It’s all connected. This alignment is all I’ve ever wanted — I just didn’t have the language to recognize it. And if I wasn’t aware of it, how could I claim it?

I couldn’t choose wealth without considering my health — would that version of success honor my body and my happiness? I couldn’t choose a spiritual path without considering my mental wellness — am I walking in faith, or fear?

I believe that a Creator created me to live in a creative universe — a world constantly shaping, dissolving, transforming itself. Everywhere I look, I see creativity expressing itself: in nature, in cities, in chaos, in design, in the smallest details of everyday life.

So I choose to live inside that same energy.
To participate in it.
To mirror it.

Being alive is the purpose.
What I do with that aliveness — that’s intention.
That’s expression.

I choose to live in the expression of creativity because it ties back to my definition of the meaning I gave to my own existence. It’s not about being an artist. It’s about living in harmony with the creative current that moves through everything.

Everywhere I look, I see creativity — shaping, moving, expressing itself in endless ways. And I’ve chosen to live inside that current. To participate in it. To be aware of it. To create alongside it.

Creativity isn’t just around me — it runs through every part of who I am.
In how I think. In how I move.
In how I feel, express, learn, grow, and rebuild myself.
My mind, my spirit, my body, my perception —
all of it becomes a living medium.

Because the more I looked at life — the way everything is constantly forming, dissolving, recreating itself — the more I realized that creation is the essence of existence. Nothing stays still.
Everything moves, transforms, expresses. And if I was made by that same
creative source, then it only made sense that my intention would be to live as that —
to mirror the very energy that made me.

Creativity shows up in every part of my life. Not as an artist, but as a person. It’s not grand; it’s simple. It’s not talent; it’s a choice. It wasn’t a discovery; it was recognition. Once I understood that I was born from creation, it became impossible to separate my existence from expression.

And in that, I found peace. Because for the first time, my purpose wasn’t something I had to earn, prove, or chase. It wasn’t a reward. It was a birthright that didn't ask for anything.

Expression Isn’t Performance

Once I stopped believing purpose had to be impressive or world-changing, expression no longer felt like something I needed to qualify for. It wasn’t a mission I had to chase — it was simply the way I chose to be alive. That’s where many of us get stuck. Not in having a purpose, but in thinking the way we live it has to look important.

We get trapped in models of purpose that demand proof — legacy, achievement, service, recognition. And when our desires don’t fit those molds, we assume we’re choosing wrong, or worse, that we are wrong. But if purpose is already inherent in existence, then expression doesn’t need to justify anything. It doesn’t need to make sense to anyone else.

Expression isn’t performance. Expression is alignment. It’s the everyday decision to live in a way that feels true — instead of striving toward some ideal that isn’t yours. And because of that, expression can be quiet. It can be slow. It can change without needing a crisis.

It isn’t about becoming someone “worthy.” It’s about living like someone who already is. Purpose is the fact that you exist. Expression is the freedom to experience that existence authentically.

Once that clicked for me, the pressure dissolved. I no longer feared getting life “wrong,” because there was no single version of “right” to chase anymore. Expression doesn’t need to be grand. It just needs to be yours.

Sovereignty

Sovereignty is the moment I understood that my life has always belonged to me. The moment purpose stopped feeling like something I had to search for or measure and instead became something I could simply live. It was the shift from proving to being.

Living my best life wasn’t a shallow answer — it just sounded too simple for a world that demands complexity. We’re taught that purpose must be noble, productive, or impressive to be valid. But sovereignty is the rejection of that idea. It’s the freedom to choose a life that feels true, whether anyone else understands it or not.

To be sovereign is to know that meaning doesn’t need permission.
That existence is the foundation.
That the expression of that existence is my decision.

I don’t need to chase worthiness.
I don’t need to earn my right to be here.
I’m already alive — that’s enough to begin.

Even in stillness, I am fulfilling my purpose.
Even in simplicity, I am aligned.
Even in uncertainty, I am living.

Sovereignty is remembering that I am the one who decides what my life means.