You Don’t Need a Purpose (At Least Not the Way You Think)

Photo @coopery

We’re told from a young age that everyone has a purpose. That you’re here for something. You're here to do something big, meaningful, impressive. To make your mark. All you have to do is sift through the noise and find out what your thing is. Sometimes natural talent plays a role, sometimes skill, often both.

But whatever it is, it's supposed to light you up somehow.

The idea is that when you find your purpose, and you live your life in alignment with that purpose, everything else falls into place. You'll be living the life you were meant to, and obstacles and suffering will melt away. The daily slog won't feel like a slog, work will feel like play, things will get a bit... dare I say it... easy.

It sounds beautiful, comforting, even. Who wouldn't want to find this magical key to a better, richer life?

We throw ourselves at it, searching and desperate for the balm to the tribulations of modernity it promises. But in reality, the idea of a singular, grand, capital-P,  P U R P O S E in life can feel impossible to find, and a heavy weight to carry at that. Especially in a world so tangled up in productivity, where worth is measured in output and identity is often reduced to nothing more than a job title.

When people talk about finding their purpose, they’re usually talking about work. A career. A calling. Something with a defined shape and measurable results. Something to build a life around. Something to hustle for. Something that pays, and doesn't really feel like work. It suggests passion and play, not toil and sacrifice. Your purpose isn't supposed to leave you crying in your car every morning while you drive yourself to a job you can't stand.

But what if we've been looking at this all wrong? What if purpose isn’t a job title? What if it isn't even a noun at all? What if it's a verb? What if purpose is not a thing but an intentional awareness?

Cambridge gives us a few familiar definitions of the word:

It's the intention behind things. The reason that something exists. The reason that we, as individuals, exist.

But that's where we've gone wrong, isn't it?

People don't really need a reason to exist at all; we just do.

For some, we're all part of god's plan. For others, we're an accident of nature. Whatever you believe, we were born into a world we didn't ask to be born into and have no obligation to defend our right to exist with something as utilitarian and limiting as a purpose. 

It's a ridiculous question to ask yourself when you really think about it.

A question born out of a society that demands that we pay just to exist. If we don't contribute to the consumer-driven machine in a beneficial way on a consistent basis, then how can it define us? How can it categorize our use? Not having a defined purpose is a point of rebellion, a rejection of the system, an intolerable freedom.

We are conditioned to want everything to be clear-cut and obvious, fixed in place like a goalpost. Permanent. I am a doctor. I am a scientist. Or I am a writer. That is who I am. Done and dusted. Question answered, I never have to think about it again and can just focus on living the dream.

Does it actually work like that? 

By all measurements of aptitude and IQ, skill and natural talent, my purpose is to write.

Even the placements in my birth chart and the lines on my palm point towards an undeniable call towards communications of some sort. I was born to do it.

But purpose, in my mind anyway, isn't fixed. It isn't your family, career, house, or any other yardstick of material success. You can have all of those things and still be dead inside. Ask anyone you know. The day-to-day grind of a consumption-addicted society isn't where you'll find ultimate fulfillment, at least not in a permanent sense.

Purpose, and the sense of it we're all chasing after, isn’t that obedient. Sometimes it’s quiet. Fleeting. Momentary. Sometimes, your purpose is to witness a sunset. To stand still and let the sky move you. To listen to the sound of the rain falling against the window. To watch your child take their first steps. To offer a stray dog a bowl of water. To hold a rose to your nose and breathe in as deeply as you can.

And that’s enough.

Not everything has to be about striving. About reaching, fixing, climbing, growing, making more more more and ever more. Sometimes, the most meaningful thing you can do is simply be present. To be open. To let yourself be shaped by wonder, or grief, or awe, or kindness.

Sometimes, your purpose is to rest. Sometimes, your purpose is to listen. Sometimes, your purpose is to create, or serve, or fight, or nurture. And sometimes, your purpose is to simply exist, and in existing, ripple quietly into someone else’s life in a way you may never fully understand.

The idea that you have to “find” your purpose, once and for all, is a trap.

It keeps you searching for something final and fixed, something that proves you’re valuable and valid and doing life right. It keeps you busy. It keeps you anxious. It keeps you striving to be deemed worthy. And it keeps you disconnected from the small, sacred roles you’re already playing every day.

What if your purpose isn’t a single thread, a single thing that you do and devote your life to doing, but a weave of moments? A rich tapestry of being? What if the point isn’t to name it, but to notice it? To bear witness to all the wild splendour and chaos around us?

What if we're meant to live our lives with purpose, not as a destination, but as a practice? What if your purpose is just to be where you are, fully? Would that be enough?