Life’s meaning isn’t Mandatory

I’ve been thinking about meaning and purpose lately.

In the Western world, “finding your purpose” has become almost like a job requirement. People talk about it the way they talk about career paths, as if we all need a personal mission statement just to exist.

But the reality is more complex. Purpose doesn’t unfold on command, and for many people it never arrives as one clear directive.

And don’t get me wrong, I love seeing people who genuinely found the thing they’re meant to do. The ones whose gifts spill out of them naturally. Like teachers who help develop our curiosity, creators who design and build new ideas, engineers who improve the systems we rely on every day, and mental health professionals who heal. I love those stories and I love those people. There’s nothing more beautiful than watching someone inhabit the thing that fits them like second skin. HOWEVER, I also believe this purpose narrative can put an enormous amount of pressure on everyone else.

What about those who aren’t there yet, or those who may never discover a single defining calling? Perhaps their path isn’t linear, but no less meaningful.

And truthfully, what if that’s okay?

Western culture doesn’t give those people much room. Here, meaning is something you’re told to “find”. Yet, on the other side of the world, the conversation is different. Some cultures believe the meaning of life is simply to live it well. To breathe, laugh, experience love, protect your peace, have meaningful relationships, practice small rituals and joyful hobbies. Basically, to live a life that feels gentle on your nervous system.

Eastern philosophies, like Taoist and Buddhist traditions, don’t demand that you transform the world, they ask only that you stop resisting it. They believe meaning emerges not from a mission, but from presence, from the way you live out your days.

And somewhere between those two worlds, Western ambition and Eastern acceptance, is where a lot of us live. Including me.

Because lately, life has been reflecting something back to me that I didn’t ask for but can’t seem to ignore. People, environments, conversations have started pointing toward something that feels wildly inescapable: that MAYBE I am one of those people with a calling. Not because I went searching for it, but because it kept growing out of me. In how I lead, how I listen, how I show up, how I heal things I didn’t break. How I walk into spaces and instinctively ask “How can I make this better?”

But even this realization stretches me in two directions because part of me feels aligned, like something transcendental is resurfacing. Another part of me feels the weight of expectation, the Western instinct to turn every strength into a destiny.

So, I’m writing this to untangle it and to explore what purpose means when we stop treating it like a necessity. While also honoring the cultures that tell us meaning is something we live, not something we chase. To sit with the religions that name our gifts and callings lovingly but also with a sense of expectation. To acknowledge the sociological forces that make us feel inadequate for being human in ordinary ways.

And lastly, to examine the possibility that purpose can be as big as changing a life, or as gentle as choosing peace.

This is an exploration of the middle place. The liminal, confusing and beautifully, strange human space between having a calling and not wanting to be defined by it. Between wanting to contribute something meaningful to the world, and also wanting to live a life that doesn’t burn you out in the process.

I’ll probably write a part two as I keep figuring out what all of this means for me, while acknowledging that it definitely shouldn’t dictate what it means for you. If there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s that we each get to create the kind of life we want. With as much or as little meaning, intention, depth, or beauty as feels right. And there’s real beauty in a simple, dignified life, just as there is in a big, purpose driven one that comes from gifts not everyone has.

And maybe part of the meaning is the sheer privilege of choice, of having the agency and freedom to decide what your life becomes, knowing that so many don’t get that same opportunity

Perhaps, meaning isn’t about volume or impact. Maybe it’s about how the world stays in balance because a healer doesn’t exist without someone who’s hurting, an engineer doesn’t exist without something that needs fixing, and a creator doesn’t exist without something waiting to be imagined.

Maybe the final question is: If no one were watching, what life would you choose (…) and does the one you have still feel like yours?