Our Passions Whisper to Us

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. Surprising since we are living twice as long as our ancestors did. But, a longer life creates longer shadows.

In 1900, the average US life expectancy was around 47 years. Today it’s nearly double that. We’re living longer, healthier lives, which is a triumph of science—but also a challenge for the soul.

I’m trying to get to 1,000,000 reads this year. I’m on track. You can help by sharing this article with someone you care about.

When you expect to live to 80, 90, or even 100 years, the pressure to “make something of it” intensifies. Ironically, the gift of longer life has created more room for anxiety when it comes to finding passion.

When Survival Was Your Purpose

For most of human history, people didn’t have the luxury of pondering “passion”. Survival was your passion. You hunted, foraged, made fire, 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. Deciding to move beyond survival to a life of substance.

This is no small shift. Compare that survival instinct to the modern 25-year-old who might live to age 100 and has food, healthcare, and transportation available on demand.

Life today looks more like The Cheesecake Factory menu. There are thousands of career, travel, and lifestyle options. Survival is no longer the question. The question is: What am I supposed to do? And, why am I here?

Those questions and the myriad of options can be overwhelming.

In The Paradox of Choice, psychologist Barry Schwartz argues that too many options don’t free us—they overwhelm us. Finding your life’s passion is no different. Historically, the boundaries of life were clear and narrow: fire, food, shelter, make babies…. repeat. Now, the field is wide open. You can be and do anything. Which sounds like freedom, until you have to choose.

And what if you pick wrong? What if you waste your one life climbing the wrong mountain? Doing something you aren’t truly passionate about? Creating an empty life.

The abundance of today’s possibilities creates the anxiety that none of them will be enough. See, nobody wants to live an empty life. Nobody wants to work, work, work, only to die quietly of a heart attack in the ‘burbs. And, that anxiety makes the old fire, food and shelter option look pretty darn attractive.

In middle age our souls grow thirsty. And our minds spend innumerable hours on a quest to find that one true thing that will quench our thirst. The thirst for meaning and purpose. The thirst for passion.

The ironic thing is that every one of us has a passion inside of us. Something that can captivate our mind and spirit. 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 totally obvious to everyone… but us. It’s the equivalent of having spinach in your teeth. Everyone sees it but you. It’s nearly impossible to find and remove the spinach unless someone points it out. That’s the way it is with passion. Everyone sees it but you.

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.

At the heart of this purpose anxiety lies a dangerous illusion: the belief that life has a singular 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.

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.

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 point isn’t to solve life like a puzzle, but to live it faithfully, moment by moment, trusting that the threads will weave together in ways we can’t always see.

The invitation is to loosen our grip on the idea of a singular, perfect purpose. To see that purpose isn’t just in the grand gestures but in the daily faithfulness. To remember that meaning isn’t always found in clarity, but often in mystery.

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.

I’d love to hear from you. Otherwise I’m just talking to myself. Leave me a message by clicking the link below. I promise that you’ll hear back from me.

Hey, let’s make a deal. I’ll keep writing thought-provoking stuff like this if you’ll agree to share with a few people you care about. Just forward the original email or copy/paste the link to this article. Thank you.