Lately, I’ve been watching people move with purpose. They chase careers, build things, post their milestones like breadcrumbs along a path they’re clearly walking. And I can’t help but wonder—do I have a path? Or am I just circling?

It’s not that I’m lost. I function. I show up. I build. I try to care. But behind every action is this low hum of uncertainty, like background static I can’t quite shut off. Everyone seems to have a “why”—a driving force that shapes their choices. I’ve tried to find mine. I’ve read the books, sat with the questions, even started things I thought might be it. But nothing has really stuck.

There’s a particular kind of loneliness that comes from watching others move forward while you stand still. It’s not envy exactly. It’s more like a quiet ache—a longing to feel the thing they seem to feel. To wake up and know. To be certain.

But maybe that certainty is a myth, or at least not universal. Maybe some people move forward simply because moving keeps the questions at bay. Maybe others don’t have a purpose either—they’ve just learned to wear ambition better than I have.

I’ve started to wonder if I’ve been looking for a single, shining purpose when maybe what I need is something quieter. Maybe purpose isn’t always a mountaintop moment. Maybe it’s in the little rituals: writing something honest, showing up for someone, watching the sun move across my wall and letting it mean something.

There’s a strange kind of courage in admitting you don’t have it all figured out. And maybe there’s a different kind of life to be lived in that space—not aimless, but open. Less about chasing some great answer and more about staying present to the small truths that show up when I stop running.

So no, I don’t have a grand purpose. Not yet. But I’m here. I’m listening. And maybe—for now—that’s enough.