I believe in living life forward.

Not still. Not in slow decay. Not in stagnation. Not in comfort.

Forward.

With direction, with intention, with a quiet certainty that what you're doing means something.

But life has its flow, and in the flow, it will go something unexpected.

It slows down.

The intensity fades.

The schedule empties.

The things that used to demand everything from you become familiar, manageable, and almost easy.

And instead of feeling relief, you feel something else entirely.

Unsettled.

That's where I found myself feeling recently. Things had quietened. Things felt more manageable. What was once just busyness turned into sustainable steadiness. My routines and systems were working in a way that didn't need my conscious intervention or effort anymore. And that was uncomfortable.

It also left me with a lot more time and space to think.

My mind began to wander. To question. To contemplate.

And the question that kept surfacing was about purpose.

There was always something to do and get done, so with the rush of modern life, who has time to think about their purpose?

In the space to think, I kept thinking about the movie Timothee Chalamet had been shoving down our throats to watch, Marty Supreme.

I haven't watched it yet (so no spoilers ahead), but I kept thinking of the line that Chalamet's character says:

That swam in my mind over and over again.

On one hand, I recognised myself in the Marty Chalamet was presenting: ambitious, driven, someone who wants their life to mean something.

But on the other hand, something about the way he said it made me feel the weight of not yet having my answer. Like not having a defined, singular purpose made me the other person in that conversation. Aimless. Unmoored.

And that discomfort — the kind that refuses to be ignored — was exactly what pushed me to turn toward the question instead of away from it.

So I sat with it. Journalled through it. Followed the threads and the intuitive pulls. Researched. Let myself wonder.

What came back wasn't a clean answer.

It was something of an exploration. And it changed how I view and understand purpose.

We're taught to think of purpose like a treasure hunt.

To believe there's a specific thing buried inside us.

A calling, a mission, a sentence that defines our entire existence.

That our job is to find it. And until we do, we are somehow incomplete.

So we search. We read the books. We take the personality tests. We listen to the podcasts. And when nothing materialises in a clear, obvious way, we conclude one of two things:

Either we don't have one. Or we're not looking hard enough.

And so the search becomes its own source of suffering.

This pressure to have purpose figured out — completely, permanently, provably — turns every ordinary moment into evidence of failure.

Here's what I think is actually happening.

Most people never get to ask themselves this question at all.

Capitalism has engineered a world where survival takes priority over self-actualisation. When you're managing the price of petrol going up, a government collapsing somewhere, a burst tyre, and what to buy your mother for her birthday, the existential questions don't get airtime.

They can't—the urgency of the immediate situations in front of you overrides everything else.

And so most people live their entire lives inside the default script. The one handed to them by their parents, their culture, their education system, and their social circle. Not because they chose it — but because they never gave themselves permission to question it.

They become passengers in their own lives.

Not because they lack ambition.

Because they never dared to be still long enough to ask.

Let's return to Marty Supreme.

I don't think he's entirely wrong.

Purpose does create obligation. It does demand sacrifice. It does mean your life becomes shaped — sometimes constrained — by something larger than your immediate comfort. There is a particular kind of person who moves through the world with that kind of singular, unflinching conviction. And it is striking to witness.

But Marty's version of purpose is one extreme.

It assumes your purpose is fixed. Singular. Something you either have or you don't. Something that separates the chosen from the aimless.

And that framing, while compelling, is also dangerous.

Because it suggests that if you haven't found your one defining mission — your thing — you are somehow living a lesser life. Making it up as you go. Without the same right to take up space.

This is not what purpose is.

Purpose, as psychologists understand it, is an abiding intention to pursue something that is both personally meaningful and makes a positive mark on the world.

It's not a single destination. It's not a fixed identity.

It is, at its core, a practice.

And here's what the research shows:

A sense of purpose is one of the strongest predictors of human flourishing — across health, longevity, cognitive function, resilience, and wellbeing. People with a sense of purpose exercise more, sleep better, recover faster, and live longer. They make better decisions. They handle adversity with more grace. They feel less lost.

But — and this is crucial — the sense of purpose that produces these outcomes doesn't have to be singular or grand. For young people especially, research shows that it's simply good to have a goal that matters to you, regardless of what it is.

The power is not in having the perfect answer.

The power is in asking the question and daring to move toward something real.

Viktor Frankl understood this.

He survived the Nazi concentration camps not because he had a perfectly defined mission, but because he kept searching for meaning — even in the darkest conditions imaginable.

As Friedrich Nietzsche wrote,

It wasn't the having of purpose that sustained Frankl.

It was the orientation toward it.

Here is what I came to understand through my own exploration.

Purpose is not a treasure you find.

It's not a singular path you walk.

It is a practice you return to.

It is not a destination to reach. It is a way of being.

It is not something you prove or earn or perform. It is something you cultivate — slowly, imperfectly, across a lifetime — because in this moment, in this season of your life, it is true and it is yours.

And it will change.

What's true at 25 will deepen at 35 and transform at 45. That is not failure.

That is a life being lived.

Your purpose does not have to be existential. It does not have to answer the question "Why do I exist?"

It can be smaller and as powerful: why do I do what I do? What drives me? What am I building toward? What problem am I oriented around?

For me, right now, my purpose is not some grand, fixed mission I've known since childhood.

It is a direction I'm discovering.

A thread I'm following.

A set of questions I'm daring to answer — because in the answers, I find meaning.

And meaning is fuel.

Purpose gives you direction when everything else feels ambiguous.

It gives you energy — not the adrenaline of urgency, but the deep, renewable fuel of alignment. Of knowing that what you're doing means something.

It gives you resilience. The hard seasons feel different when you have a reason to move through them. The difficult becomes worth it.

It gives you focus. When you know what matters, distraction loses its grip.

And perhaps most importantly, it puts you in the driver's seat of your own life.

Not a passenger. Not someone making it up as they go.

Someone who chose a direction and is moving toward it with intention.

This is not a formula. It is an invitation.

Purpose doesn't form in stillness. It forms in motion. Through contemplation, through daring, and through following the threads that pull at you even when you can't explain why.

Here's how to begin.

1. Dare to ask: The first and most important step is simply giving yourself permission to take the question seriously. Most people never do. They dismiss it as self-indulgent, or too big, or something to figure out later. Later never comes. Ask now. The question itself is the beginning.

2. Tolerate the discomfort: The question will feel uncomfortable. That's not a sign that something is wrong — it's a sign that something matters. Sit in it. Don't reach for distraction. Don't rush to an answer. Let the discomfort do its work. What you're willing to feel is often the edge of where you'll grow.

3. Observe others and question: Who do you admire? Not for their success, but for how they move through the world — what they're oriented toward, what they're building, what they seem to be guided by. Use other lives as mirrors. Ask: What is it about them that resonates? What does that tell you about you?

4. Get clear on what you value: Purpose lives close to values. When you know what you genuinely care about — not what you're supposed to care about, but what actually moves you — you have the raw material of purpose. Ask: What would I defend? What would I grieve if it disappeared? What do I return to, again and again, even when no one is watching?

5. Dare to dream: Not practically. Not sensibly. Just — what would you do if you knew it would work? What kind of life do you want to have lived when you look back? Who do you want to have been? Let yourself go there. Dreams are data.

6. Start small: You don't need the whole picture. You need the next honest step. What is one thing you could pursue, explore, or create that feels aligned with what's surfacing? Start there. Purpose is built in small acts of courage, not grand revelations.

7. Start with the problem you have right now: Often, your current struggle is pointing toward your purpose. The thing you've had to fight through, figure out, or survive — that's often what you're most equipped and compelled to help others with. Your wound and your work are frequently the same thing.

8. Understand that purpose is finding your purpose: The search is not a detour. It is the path. The act of questioning, exploring, and daring to go deeper — that is a purposeful life. You do not need to arrive. You need to be in motion toward something real.

9. Give it time: Some people know their purpose from the moment they can form coherent thoughts. Others spend decades discovering it slowly. Both are valid. Purpose is a lifelong project, not a weekend exercise. Be patient with the process. Trust that clarity comes to those who keep asking.

Humans are not finished projects.

We are works in progress — shaped by every season, every question, every dare we take.

Your purpose will change. That is expected.

You are constantly evolving, after all.

Even if your purpose right now is finding your purpose, that is a worthwhile purpose.

Even if your purpose is to survive this day, this week, this season — that is your purpose, and it is enough.

Even if your purpose is simply to enjoy this moment, this life, exactly as it is — without the pressure of some grand defining mission — that is your purpose, and it is worthwhile.

All I'm asking is that you consider it.

That you dare to go where most people don't.

That you give yourself permission to be still enough to ask the hard questions. To be brave enough to begin moving toward the answers.

Most people will live their entire lives inside a story someone else wrote for them.

Not because they lacked the capacity for something more.

But because they never gave themselves permission to ask.

You're already asking.

That's enough to begin.

Thank you for reading.

I hope you enjoyed it.

See you in the next one.

— Shana