Skip to content Maybe learning how to “find your purpose” isn’t something we figure out intellectually, but maybe, instead, our purpose becomes increasingly obvious as we become increasingly our raw, authentic selves.
Have you ever heard the idea that we’re sometimes drawn toward fields of work or interests that reflect something we also need to explore or heal within ourselves?
Maybe it’s the psychology major who wants to become a therapist, only to discover how deeply the study of the mind helps them understand their own. Sometimes it’s the nutritionist who pursues holistic wellness and, somewhere along the way, begins healing their own relationship with food—even if that wasn’t consciously what they were searching for when they chose the profession.
I wonder, now more than ever, if sometimes what we’re drawn toward isn’t random at all. What if our interests are some of the earliest clues pointing us toward who we’re becoming—and what we’re here to explore, embody, or eventually share with others?
I have always been drawn to wellness, and that journey has evolved immensely over the last 15 years I’ve studied and worked in integrative health. I spent years doing massage therapy. I tried being a doula for a season. I stepped into wellness coaching and coordination, and eventually embraced online entrepreneurship, coaching, and course creation.
I’ve loved parts of every one of these pursuits. Each has given me something. But nothing has ever completely clicked into place as the thing that excites me and fills me to my core.
And I don’t think I’m the only person who deeply craves that strong, authentic connection to purpose—to feel that what we’re doing matters, that we’re contributing something, and perhaps even experiencing abundance from doing something we’re genuinely passionate about.
The more I immerse myself in Ayurveda, personal development, consciousness, and human potential, the more I’ve come to believe that connecting with our purpose is an important part of the human experience. Or, through the lens of Eastern philosophy, connecting with our dharma.
Dharma is slightly different from what we commonly mean when we talk about “purpose.” It’s broader and more encompassing, touching not only what we do, but how we live, the responsibilities we carry, and the path through life that is ours to walk.
To me, dharma feels more soulful than purpose.
The Sanskrit word dharma carries a much broader meaning than our modern idea of “finding your calling.” Depending on the philosophical tradition and context, it can refer to right living, duty, moral responsibility, conduct, or living in accordance with a greater order. So when I use the word dharma throughout this article, I’m not simply talking about finding the perfect career. I’m talking about the deeper question of how we are called to live and contribute during the life we’ve been given.
This is one of the reasons I’ve always been so fascinated by the relationship between Ayurveda and purpose. Within the Ayurvedic tradition, health supports the pursuit of the four purusharthas, or aims of human life: dharma (right living and duty), artha (material prosperity and resources), kama (pleasure and desire), and moksha (spiritual liberation). In other words, health isn’t necessarily the ultimate destination. A healthy body and mind give us greater capacity to actually participate in the fullness of our lives—to fulfill our responsibilities, experience pleasure, create stability, pursue spiritual growth, and live in accordance with our dharma.
I love this because it makes purpose so much bigger than productivity or profession.
So no, dharma isn’t necessarily a means to make a lot of money doing something you’re good at. It isn’t a perfectly packaged career or a niche you can put in an Instagram bio. It asks something deeper: What is mine to live? What is mine to contribute? How do I use this life in a way that feels true and impactful?
To me, dharma feels intimately connected to our growth, our contribution, and the way we live in relationship with something greater than ourselves. Dharma feels like an essential piece of the journey toward self-realization.
And I think I’ve known—or at least felt—this somewhere deep in my cells since I first left college at 18.
I wanted so badly to feel aligned with purpose and meaning that I think part of me has always refused to settle. I can see that much more clearly now.
I attended a college-prep boarding school, ranked in the top 10% of a highly accomplished group of college-bound students, and got into my top college choice: a competitive and prestigious liberal arts school in Colorado.
And even though I was thriving academically, there was a part of my 18-year-old self that felt called to leave.
Even then, I wanted to pursue integrative wellness, and there wasn’t really a path there that reflected what I wanted to study. I contemplated pre-med or something heavily rooted in science, but considering how much my parents would have had to spend each year to keep me enrolled—even with scholarships and financial aid, it was significant for my middle-class, blue-collar family—I knew I had to leave.
That may have been my first truly challenging test on my journey toward a soul-aligned purpose.
Coming from the high school I did, dropping out of college felt insanely taboo. For years I had to work through shame and embarrassment, followed by more years of questioning whether I’d made the right choice.
But I never stopped learning.
I essentially made my own college, if you will. I pursued a holistic nutrition degree, became a massage therapist, went off to Ayurveda school, earned my health coaching certification, trained as a doula, and eventually found my way back to an accredited university to pursue a bachelor’s degree more aligned with what I’m genuinely interested in.
Just like my different jobs, every educational path gave me another insight—another little nugget of information about what I care about and what I believe I’m here to do.
There is, however, one thread I haven’t mentioned yet. And perhaps it’s one of the most obvious clues my own life has been leaving me all along.
I love to write.
And I’ve loved writing since my early teens. Whether journaling or working on assignments for school, writing has always been something that grounds me and helps me feel more connected to myself—and more alive.
Just a few weeks ago, my mom reminded me about a compilation I gifted her of all my creative and reflective work from a nonfiction writing class I took my senior year of high school. After reading back through it, she gave me a little nudge that perhaps I needed to hear: writing is a gift of mine, and one that’s meant to be shared.
Then a few years ago, I wrote my first book, Bring on the Bliss: Your Pathway to Purpose, Health, and a Life of Magic. And while I am incredibly proud that I can say I wrote a freaking book that a publisher picked up, what feels even more significant to me now is remembering how much I loved writing it.
There were days when I would sit down to write and completely lose track of time. It felt almost meditative. At times, it even felt like a form of channeling—not necessarily in some grand mystical sense, but like the words were moving through me faster than I could consciously construct them. I was reflecting, learning, creating, processing my own experiences, and turning them into something I hoped might help someone else.
It was therapeutic. It was healing. It was creative. It was incredibly rewarding.
And then the book came out.
And I didn’t “make it” as an author (at least not yet). I didn’t sell thousands of copies or suddenly build a wildly successful career around my writing. And somewhere along the way, I allowed that external outcome to change the story I told myself about the experience.
There were moments in the years that followed when I wondered whether writing the book had been a waste of time.
But lately I’ve been asking myself: How could something that made me feel that alive and connected have been a waste?
Maybe I was measuring the wrong thing.
If I only measure the experience by book sales, I can tell myself it failed. But if I look at what the process revealed about me, it gave me an incredibly valuable piece of information:
I love to write. I love to reflect. I love to learn and then share what I’m learning. I love creating something from nothing. I love putting language and structure around the questions I can’t stop thinking about. And when I’m doing those things, I feel deeply like myself.
So why did I stop?
Because somewhere along the way, I started believing that if writing wasn’t making me money, building an audience, or turning me into a “successful author,” it wasn’t a worthwhile use of my time.
And THAT is exactly the kind of conditioning I’m talking about when I say finding our purpose sometimes requires getting underneath everything we’ve been taught about what a meaningful life is supposed to look like.
Maybe writing isn’t the entirety of my dharma. Maybe it is. I don’t know yet.
But I’m beginning to understand that I don’t actually need to know.
What I know is that writing keeps calling me back.
And now I’m returning to it as a different person than the woman who wrote that first book. I’ve studied more. I’ve worked with more people. I’ve become a mother. I’ve built businesses. I’ve watched some of them fail. I’ve studied Ayurveda more deeply. I’ve become increasingly fascinated by consciousness and human potential. I’ve questioned my beliefs, changed my mind, healed, struggled, learned, and lived.
Maybe none of those chapters pulled me away from my path–maybe they gave me more to write and share about.
And perhaps the next expression of my purpose isn’t abandoning everything I’ve done and discovering some completely new calling. I feel like it’s bringing all those seemingly disconnected pieces together in a different way—writing differently, sharing differently, using the skills I’ve gained to actually get my work into people’s hands, and allowing the form of that work to continue evolving.
Because isn’t that the journey?
We try something. We learn. We fail. We pivot. We get distracted. We come back. We discover another piece of ourselves. And hopefully, if we’re paying attention, each chapter gives us another clue.
Maybe “finding your purpose” isn’t about finally arriving at the one thing you’re supposed to do forever, but maybe it’s about becoming increasingly able to recognize what makes you feel most like yourself—and having the courage to keep following it.
And of course, I can’t deny that the journey has been frustrating and so testy at times.
For someone who so deeply wants to feel connected to a greater purpose—to help people heal, remember their potential, and come into their power—it can be incredibly challenging to still feel uncertain about exactly what that contribution is supposed to look like, especially after so many attempts, so much effort.
It, at times, becomes easy to slip into victimhood: Why is this happening for other people and not for me? Why can’t I figure this out? Why isn’t the path clearer? Why does it feel like something keeps getting in the way?
I’m quite familiar with that pattern.
But as I’ve become more present in my own journey and learned to observe it with greater awareness, curiosity, and less judgment, I’ve started looking at my experiences differently.
I now ask frequently: What has challenged me? What has inspired me? What am I envious of—and what might that envy reveal about something I secretly desire? What makes me angry? What do I continually yearn for? What subjects can’t I stop learning about? What experiences make me feel incredibly alive?
Have you ever accepted that maybe our lives, in the most chilling moments and the most painful, are constantly giving us information about who we truly are?
Our inspiration and yearning can point us toward what we want more of. Our triggers, fears, and challenges can invite us to examine what might be getting in the way and parts of ourselves–our shadows–that we still need to heal and make peace with.
Rather than immediately falling into “Why is this happening to me?”, I’ve been learning to ask:
“What might I need to see, understand, heal, or move through here so I can more fully embrace the work and life that feels like my highest expression?”
That doesn’t mean every painful thing happens for us, or that every hardship contains some predetermined spiritual lesson. But I do believe we have the ability to become curious about what our experiences reveal—and decide what we want to do with that information.
One of my favorite questions to explore is some version of:
“What if I don’t have a purpose?”
Or:
“What if I’m perfectly happy with my job because it brings stability and comfort to my life, even though I don’t necessarily love the work?”
Or even:
“What if I don’t have the time, money, freedom, or means to go searching for my purpose?”
There aren’t perfect, precise answers to these questions.
Through the philosophical lens of dharma, however, purpose doesn’t have to mean profession.
Your dharma could be expressed through motherhood. It could be leading a support group in your community because you’ve walked through something difficult and now feel called to help others do the same. It could be a spiritual calling. It could be environmental work, bringing nourishing food into your community, caring for animals, creating music or art, mentoring someone, teaching, volunteering, or simply being the person who brings a particular kind of love and presence into the lives around you.
And yes, sometimes our profession becomes a beautiful expression of purpose. And sometimes our profession simply provides the means that allow us to live our purpose elsewhere.
That distinction matters.
Because if we’re searching for the perfect career every time we ask “What is my purpose?”, we may completely overlook the places where we’re already living it.
And if you’re reading this and still feel completely blocked or disconnected from your purpose, I wouldn’t immediately assume that you simply haven’t found the right career, personality test, workbook, or passion yet.
Instead, I’d get curious about what’s underneath the disconnection.
I invite you to ask yourself, without judgment:
What part of me doesn’t believe I’m worthy of a deeply fulfilling life?
What have I been taught success is supposed to look like?
Whose unaligned expectations am I still trying to fulfill?
What would I pursue if nobody were watching?
What am I naturally curious about?
When do I feel most like myself?
Where do I already feel useful, alive, creative, or of service?
And perhaps the biggest one:
If I stopped trying to figure out my purpose for a moment, what is already trying to get my attention and draw me in?
Some of those questions may bring up deeper beliefs or patterns that are worth exploring on your own or with an appropriate therapist, coach, mentor, or other professional. It’s always ok to ask for help and support.
I do hope you remember this though: your purpose doesn’t have to be impressive to be meaningful. You don’t need a massive platform. You don’t need to become a CEO. You don’t need to save humanity. You don’t need to monetize every gift you possess.
I believe you are worthy of purpose, fulfillment, alignment, and joy simply because you are here. And wherever you are today, you can begin becoming curious about what a big, beautiful, dharma-aligned life might actually mean for you.
So if you’re a seeker and a dreamer like me—someone who wants to understand your dharma and feel deeply connected to why you’re here—I don’t want to give you another rigid formula for finding your purpose.
I certainly don’t have all the answers, but I have spent a lot of time thinking about this, studying it, getting it wrong, starting over, and paying attention to what keeps bringing me closer to myself. So, from one seeker to another, here are a few humble pieces of advice that might help you along the way.
I would not have started with this nugget of advice years ago. I would have encouraged you to dig and try to uncover, through constant questioning and exploration, exactly what you are here to do—just as I have tried to force clarity on many occasions.
But through my deepening understanding of human potential and dharma, where my own journey has led me again and again, and what just intuitively makes the most sense to me now, I think we have to start by first stopping the relentless pursuit of trying to “find your purpose.”
It sounds counterintuitive considering the title of this article, I know, but if we truly have no idea what we’re here to do, doesn’t it make sense to create some space to simply be?
To rest, even. To relearn what we enjoy and what naturally feels good to us. To read the books we’re drawn to. To spend time doing something simply because we love it. To finally take the course we’ve wanted to take for years but could never justify the “yes.”
Just enjoy you for a while.
And be open to receiving insights and inspiration along the way, without attachment to what those insights need to become.
Even if we can’t pinpoint the what, we can still get clear on the why.
Our why is often the deeper reason we want to pursue certain goals, make changes, or even take the uncomfortable-yet-aligned actions that may lead us closer to our authentic expression—in life, work, relationships, service, or whatever form that eventually takes.
You can begin simply by asking yourself:
“What would creating a life rooted in meaning and purpose open up for me? What would it allow me to experience, give, or receive? Why does this matter so deeply to me?”
Don’t overcomplicate it. Let the layers of your why surface over time.
Get excited about what’s possible, and let your connection to your why become an anchor that keeps you on the journey—even when you’re tested, uncertain, or uncomfortable.
So often, feelings arise and we don’t think much of them. We experience the moment and move on.
But I’ve started to see our emotions and reactions as information.
When something sparks joy, resonance, inspiration, excitement, or that almost inexplicable feeling of I want more of THAT, get curious. Maybe it’s simply something you enjoy, or maybe it’s a clue pointing you toward something that’s deeply true to you, your journey, or even how you’re here to contribute.
And on the opposite end, when we’re triggered and experience shame, guilt, fear, anger, jealousy, envy, or resentment, we can become curious about those reactions, too.
Rather than judging yourself for them, ask what might be underneath them.
What is this showing me? What am I afraid of? What do I secretly want? What belief is being activated here? Is there a subconscious story clouding my connection to myself, my clarity, or my ability to fully step into the life I desire?
The more we can bring these stories and patterns into our awareness, the less unconsciously they have to run the show.
You don’t need to turn every emotion into a spiritual assignment. Just pay attention.
Your life may be leaving you more clues than you realize.
I mean this. This part is critical.
It’s also one of the reasons I’ve remained so passionate about Ayurveda, the ancient Indian system of health that I’ve studied for years.
One of the ideas I’ve taken most deeply from Ayurveda is that health isn’t simply the end goal. Caring for the body and mind gives us a stronger foundation from which to pursue the deeper aims of our lives—including our spiritual and dharmic pursuits.
And it makes sense, right?
Having a healthy, vibrant body and mind allows you not only to show up in service and purpose, but to enjoy your life while you’re living it. You have greater capacity to create, expand, contribute, care for the people you love, and continue showing up in your highest and best way.
So health matters.
There are many pathways to health, so follow what feels aligned and appropriate for you—but follow it. Prioritize your needs when you can. Get restorative sleep. Eat nourishing whole foods. Reduce chronic stress and support your nervous system. Hydrate. Get outside. Move your body. Spend time in nature. Seek support from qualified providers when you need it.
It’s all a piece of the same puzzle.
Even if you don’t know exactly what you’re here to do yet, you can care for the person who is going to do it.
You can create more space for what you love and what lights you up. You can become more connected to your body, mind, and inner world. And you can stop denying yourself the healing, nourishment, rest, pleasure, and inner work that may help you hear yourself more clearly.
The goal isn’t to frantically search outside of yourself until you finally stumble upon your purpose–I believe, in my humble experience, the work is to become well, quiet, connected, and awake enough to recognize it when it speaks.
I’m writing all of this from inside the journey, not from the other side of it.
I don’t have a perfectly packaged answer for exactly what my dharma will look like five or ten years from now, but I think that’s a beautiful—and essential—part of anyone’s journey. That’s what I’m finally learning: to detach from the end goal and allow the path to unfold.
I know I love to write. I know I love to learn, reflect, create, teach, and explore the questions that make us think more deeply about who we are and what we’re capable of. I know I care deeply about health, consciousness, human potential, and helping people remember more of who they are. And I know that when I’m immersed in those things, I feel more like myself.
For years, I discounted one of the clearest pieces of evidence I had because it didn’t produce the external result I thought it should. I wrote an entire book, Bring on the Bliss, which includes a powerful, modern Ayurveda-inspired pathway for supporting the body and clearing the mind so we can more fully embrace our purpose. Writing that book was one of the most fulfilling, aligned, and creative experiences of my life. And now, years later, I’m writing again—and it feels like coming home to a key part of myself.
I don’t know exactly where it will lead. Maybe another book. Maybe speaking. Maybe teaching. Maybe something I haven’t imagined yet. Maybe it simply remains something I do because I love it.
But this time, I don’t want to require my writing to prove its value to me before I allow myself to follow it.
And perhaps that’s an invitation for you, too.
What keeps calling you back? What makes you lose track of time? What would you continue learning, creating, practicing, sharing, or contributing even if nobody applauded?
I now believe to my core that we don’t need to know exactly what our lives are supposed to become. I do believe, however, we’re meant to keep paying attention—and to have the courage to follow the next clue.
