I’m okay with not having a purpose

Viktor Frankl believed that the core of any person’s existence is to find meaning.

But I can’t remember a time when I ever felt an innate desire to create meaning around my life. And it’s because of this realization that I’ve found the romanticization of finding one’s purpose so fascinating. Hundreds of articles and entire books are dedicated to this single pursuit. People search their whole lives for this elusive feeling.

But what if there is no purpose? What if there is no meaning?

What if we’re just… living?

I’ve quietly wondered if people are born with the desire to find a purpose, or if it’s something society pushes on us. Did the “What do you want to be when you grow up?” questions or “You’re going to accomplish great things!” statements kickstart the game of purpose hide-and-seek?

Let me be clear: this isn’t a pessimistic post. I’m not sad about anything you’re about to read, nor do I want to change any of it.

It’s the opposite, actually. Not looking for a greater meaning or overarching purpose feels freeing.

I invite you to consider if it could be freeing for you, too.

Sure, I have small “purposes.” When I wake up, my dogs need me to take them outside and feed them. If I eventually have a kid, they’ll need me to keep them alive. Then there’s myself. I need to keep me alive. My body working, my mental health from falling down a rabbit hole. I need me.

But if my purpose changes so frequently— every year or, sometimes, every day— can we really call it a purpose?

I’d rather call them goals because the term feels less grandiose. Maybe that’s me tapping out, not wanting to deal with the pressure. But not having to worry about letting my “purpose” down, about not living up to it, is amazing, for lack of a stronger word.

It’s fucking life-changing.

In the book The Blue Zones, researchers studied the most concentrated populations of people who live past a hundred and what contributes to their longevity. One of the qualities all the communities shared was, as the book phrased it, having (you guessed it) a purpose.

But again, it’s all about the wording. Their “purpose” was simply having something they care about enough to get up in the morning. For some it’s survival: farming rice fields so their family has food. For others it’s community: volunteering at church or helping a neighbor.

Their purpose is a reason to get out of bed. Not a legacy meant to outlive them. Not an explanation for their entire existence.

Which is great, because I don’t want meaning. I want to invest my time in things I enjoy. Things I feel proud of.

If it wasn’t already obvious: I’m not a religious person and perhaps that’s why I never find myself pondering “the meaning of life.” But I don’t want sympathy from people who believe I’d have a brighter outlook if only I invited God into my life. I tried that; it’s not for me.

I feel more free than ever accepting the belief that I don’t have a purpose. That this is it. Life isn’t just what comes my way, it’s what I choose to do with it.
Not once. But many times. Over and over.

So I have good and bad news for you. The bad is that maybe your pursuit of a “purpose” is causing more distress than it’s worth. The good news is: you can let that shit go.

Maybe your “purpose” today is to simply take care of yourself. Or to call a friend who needs to hear your voice. Maybe it’s just to get through class. Or to help someone load their groceries into their car.

It’s taken a few personal beatings and listening to people older than me to realize: I no longer expect life to feel grand and easy all the time. And maybe purpose isn’t some lofty answer we spend our lives chasing. Maybe it’s just how we move through the up and downs of life. How we care for ourselves in the low points. How we carry the good ones with us.

Frankl said life demands meaning from us, not the other way around.

I say: life can chill. Some days, meaning is feeding the dogs and remembering to drink water. And honestly? That’s enough.