What I Learned While Failing to Find My Purpose

“In general, people are often too focused on their own problems to care about how you're solving yours.” This is from Cal Newport's Slow Productivity. And I get it—I’m just as wrapped up in my own problems as the next person. Right now, I’m trying to solve a few monetary issues by building a second source of income. Ah, the hustle culture. I do need the money, mainly to pay off some debt. I am trying to be productive but not so much that I stress myself out and do nothing about it. 

My idea for that second income? This blog. It’s starting to gain some traction, thanks to the thousand or so readers who visit it monthly. And now, I want to take that momentum and shift it in a more personal direction.

I’m the eldest child in my family, with a younger brother who’s nine years younger than me. I’m approaching 30, still searching for my “purpose” in life. That’s probably one reason why I haven’t been able to hold down a job for more than a year—or maintain a strong relationship, if I’m being completely honest.

I’ve been working for over a decade now and have held so many different titles at so many different places, I might forget to list them all. I’ve worked as a content creator, a factory in-charge, an IT team supervisor, a freelance photographer/videographer, a graphic designer, a math tutor, and a manager at a trading company. There was even a short stint in an acting project—it didn’t get greenlit, but it was enjoyable nonetheless.

What I’ve realized through all of this is that I gravitate toward the arts—music, writing, drawing, acting. That’s why I gave up a partially funded scholarship at one of the top management colleges in town to pursue a Bachelor’s degree in Eastern Classical Music. Later, my love for reading and writing led me to start a Master’s in English Literature—the thesis for which is still pending. How hard it is to write when you have to.

Through all these twists and turns, I keep finding myself asking, “What is it that I really want to do?”
And the answer is simple: it’s exactly what I’m doing right now—sitting here with the sun at my back, writing about the things I experience.

I’m grateful for that. I write regularly, even if I don’t post as much as I’d like to. Most of my writings stay private. This blog is a kind of rebellion against myself—a way to push past that habit and share my thoughts with strangers like you around the world.

All of this is to say: I’ve been so consumed with my own problems and solutions that I sometimes forget others are in the same boat. Everyone I meet is fighting their own battles, often quietly. They deserve compassion. My family is no different. My folks want what’s best for us, and they do their best to shield us from their worries. But that doesn’t mean we don’t recognize their love and protection.

I feel the same way—I want to provide for them without becoming a burden. But in a family context, that protective instinct can lead to a kind of communication gap. The distance that comes from loving too much. We want the best for each other but avoid sharing our struggles, not realizing that we might hold the key to each other’s solutions.

When this gap isn’t addressed, it creates a loop—one that only widens with time. Even now, while I can share all of this with complete strangers on the internet, I find it hard to sit down and talk with my brother about his struggles, or open up to my father or mother about mine.

The book of poems I’m working on tries to address that very issue. Who would’ve thought I’d need to write an entire book just to express myself to the people I love?

So maybe it’s not just about the personal problems we’re trying to solve—it’s also about how we communicate them. The medium is just as important, if not more, than the message.