I bet that at some point in your life you went through an existential crisis. A period where you pondered the question: Why am I here?
Ancient philosophers from Socrates to Camus struggled with this question. Even Jesus tried to wrestle this one to the ground. American singer/songwriters from Johnny Cash to Bob Dylan often explored themes of purpose and spiritual meaning.
But something curious happened in the last century. This age-old question has taken on a sharper edge, a restless urgency. It has evolved from a longing to more of a crisis. In 1900, the average life expectancy was around 47 years. Today it’s more than double that. We’re living longer, healthier lives, which is a triumph of science—but also a challenge for the soul.
For most of human history, people didn’t have the luxury of pondering “passion”. Survival was your only passion. You hunted, foraged, built a shelter, and raised children because winter was coming, and mouths needed to be fed. Meaning was baked into the rhythm of survival.
As societies grew wealthier, technology advanced, and life spans lengthened, something strange happened. The old burdens of survival lifted, and in their place came a new burden: deciding what to do with all the extra time and possibilities. Life today looks more like the menu at The Cheesecake Factory. There are thousands of careers, travel, and lifestyle options. The abundance of today’s possibilities creates the anxiety that none of them will be enough. The average teen has immediate access to money, food and transportation at their fingertips. It stands in stark contrast to our ancestors who were just trying to survive the winter.
With a myriad of possibilities our souls tend to get thirsty. And our minds spend innumerable hours on a quest to find that one true thing that will quench our thirst. The ironic thing is that every one of us has a passion inside of us. Things that cause us to totally lose track of time, forget to eat, forget to use the bathroom and go into some super catatonic, Star Trek mind meld state. And for most of us that passion is right in front of us. It’s the equivalent of having spinach in your teeth. Everyone sees it but you.
At the heart of this purpose anxiety lies a dangerous illusion: the belief that life has a singular capital-P Purpose, like a hidden treasure chest waiting to be discovered. But purpose is rarely a one-time discovery. More often, it’s a series of shifting seasons. A parent may find their passion in raising children, then rediscover it later through teaching. A teacher may feel it in the classroom for decades, then find it again in caring for aging parents. An aging parent might find a new and unexpected passion for backgammon that was hidden for 80 or 90 years. It’s never too late.
The idea that there is one ultimate thing we are here to do sets us up for disappointment. Worse, it blinds us to the many small, sacred purposes that weave through an ordinary day.
Purpose doesn’t mean curing cancer or writing the next great novel. Sometimes it means showing up fully for the people who need you. Sometimes it means building a life of integrity in a culture of shortcuts. Sometimes it means embracing the mystery of life. Because not everything has to be understood, explained, or neatly mapped out in real-time. Sometimes, faith is less about certainty and more about surrender—trusting that meaning will emerge as you walk the path.
The curse of purpose anxiety is real. It’s fed by longer lives and overwhelming choices. But it doesn’t have to define us. This is where ancient wisdom can help. Many spiritual traditions remind us that purpose is not self-manufactured, but discovered in relationship—to God, to others, to creation itself. The invitation is to loosen your grip on the idea of a singular, perfect purpose, and instead live with attention and intention.
Tom Greene is a writer living in Atlanta, Georgia with his wife and loyal wiener dog, Maggie. His writing can be found at www.tomgreene.com. He can be reached at [email protected]
