I always thought I had to find my calling—my purpose—somewhere, somehow.
A deep connection to everything…
Looking outside, looking within…Always chasing the shiny object. But at night, when all is silent, the gold shines no more.
All around me, people have dreams—or at least seem to. But for me, this remained a mystery. How can someone dedicate their life to a single purpose, passion, or job? How do you decide that this is what you’ll be doing for the rest of your life, day in and day out?
I could never answer that deceptively simple question our math professor asked: “Where do you see yourself in 20 years?” I churned out some made-up answer about pleasing God and being a man of faith. Talk about soft indoctrination… Yet, I was surprised that most of my classmates had clear ideas—mostly revolving around financial success, yachts, and luxury. But me? Even now, I can’t picture my future self.
If you had told me in high school self that I’d be writing for TV, directing movies, and living from my art, I would have laughed in your face. And yet, even now, I don’t feel that what I’m doing is my calling. I never dreamed of being a filmmaker or a screenwriter. My future was always a question mark. I even tried creating a vision board, but nothing ever seemed to fit.
Maybe that’s because defining the future feels like putting walls around something fluid. The moment I try to commit to a single vision, I feel trapped. Why be something when you can be everything?
Lately, I’ve been working through The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron, and one question sent me spiraling: “What did you wish to accomplish as a child but haven’t yet?” That’s when I realized all my “dreams” and “personalities” were shaped by everything around me. I never truly had a dream—only fleeting, romantic entanglements with concepts, ideas, and different ways of living.
That’s the price to pay. The universe doesn’t like empty spaces. Leaving my “dream” case empty means it gets filled by everything around me, and that can be painful. Maybe it’s also fear—fear of committing to something. Or maybe the real question is: do I need a singular purpose at all?
Today, I’m nearing 36 years of existence. I’m already living in the future I once struggled to picture. Half my life is over. Maybe it’s time to define my purpose, or maybe it’s enough to keep exploring.
The burden of life is that it’s up to us to define its meaning—but that demands radical honesty. Am I ready for that?
As we step into 2025, that’s what I wish for myself and for you: May we live with intention. May we embrace the unknown. And most importantly, may we find happiness, however it chooses to reveal itself.
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