Tuesday Email (Wednesday Test): It's Hard to Define our Purpose

Happy Wednesday!

Every week I like to offer strategies for the week ahead and a thought to fuel your action.

I'm scrolling through another research for this newsletter at 8 AM on a Friday when I stop mid-sentence.

"Individuals with a strong sense of purpose articulate a life story that connects past events, present actions, and future aspirations into a meaningful whole."

I reread it.

Then I started typing, fast, barely keeping up with my own thoughts.

Something was connecting that I've never been able to name.

The thing about purpose is that we've been looking at it all wrong.

We treat ambiguity like an obstacle to defining our purpose when ambiguity is the defining feature.

We avoid the work of articulating purpose because it has no finish line, no measurable endpoint, no moment when we can declare victory and move on.

But here's what I realized as I type frantically in my home office: that's precisely what makes it purpose, not just another goal.

Let me explain.

Think back to the last major decision you made: a career change, a relationship, or where to live.

What lens did you view it through? And was that the same lens you used for other hard decisions in your life?

Most of us can't answer that question clearly, because we haven't done the uncomfortable work of defining what that lens actually is.

I know I hadn't.

For years, I thought I was chasing excellence, impact, or growth.

But sitting with Dan McAdams' research on life narratives, I finally saw the thread I'd been following without realizing it: I've always been trying to prove I'm good enough.

Not in grand, dramatic ways. In small, persistent ones.

Junior year, I made varsity baseball but never started. Other players switched positions just to get playing time ahead of me. In my senior year, my entire academic career aimed at one target—the University of Georgia—and I got deferred while friends got in. Years later, entering the family business, imposter syndrome whispered constantly. Then our technology venture failed.

Each time, the story was the same: not quite good enough.

And that's when McAdams' concept clicked: the "redemption sequence." People with strong purpose don't ignore suffering—they weave it into a narrative that gives meaning to present actions and future direction.

My purpose isn't despite those moments of inadequacy. It's because of them.

I share ideas, teach, write these newsletters—not because I'm naturally extroverted or love attention. I do it because being heard and valued addresses something that teenage me, sitting on the bench, desperately wanted. Sharing insights and alternative perspectives isn't what I do; it's who I became in response to not feeling good enough.

Purpose isn't something we discover in a moment of clarity. It's something we reconstruct by finding the pattern in our own story.

Here's what makes purpose different from meaning, goals, or values, and why that distinction matters.

Meaning is a point in time.

We derive meaning from our past (making sense of what happened), our present (feeling significant in what we're doing), and having direction for the future. You can have rich meaning in your life right now, even without a clear purpose.

Purpose is the connective tissue between all those points.

It's the forward-looking lens that determines how we allocate our resources—time, money, attention—independent of what others think we should do. Purpose operates like your native language: you don't consciously translate every thought through it, but it shapes how you perceive and respond to everything.

Think of meaning as vocabulary learned from experience. Purpose is the story you're writing with those words—a story that doesn't have an ending, but does have a direction.

And that's exactly why we resist doing the work.

We've been conditioned to avoid ambiguity.

The modern world rewards external validation over internal clarity.

We're measured by what we produce, not who we are. We're accepted for what we've accomplished, not for self-knowledge. Everything moves fast, demands results, expects more in shorter timeframes.

Stopping to ask "Who am I and why?" feels like doing a jigsaw puzzle on a treadmill. The introspection requires standing still, but standing still feels like falling behind.

The ambiguity of defining purpose is like being handed a blank map and told the treasure is definitely out there. We'd rather follow someone else's detailed directions to a smaller prize than navigate uncertainty toward something potentially transformative.

But here's what I learned in my home office, typing frantically after weeks of research: the discomfort is the process.

You can't shortcut your way to purpose by reading the right book or attending the right workshop.

You have to sit with your own story—the uncomfortable parts especially—and find the pattern that's been there all along.

So how do you actually start?

George Kinder offers three questions that act like a camera lens focusing in three clicks:

First: "What would you do if you were financially secure?" This pulls back to show the whole landscape, removing money anxiety from the equation.

Second: "What would you do if you had only 5-10 years to live?" This zooms to the middle distance, where real priorities sharpen against the constraint of time.

Third: "What would you regret not doing if you had only 24 hours left?" This snaps into macro focus on the single detail that defines everything else.

These questions work because they force you to move from abstract to specific, from someday to now, from comfortable to essential.

Ask yourself these questions.

Better yet, as advisors, ask your clients—but prepare for the conversation to go deep, go slow, and possibly go places you didn't expect.

Because here's what happens when you help someone articulate their purpose: they stop optimizing for someone else's definition of success and start allocating toward what actually matters to them.

Not in some future state, but starting now.

The hardest work is often the most fulfilling.

At the starting line of difficult journeys, we're fearful and overwhelmed. We yearn for the comfort of normal, the safety of the status quo.

But it's in that journey when we realize something incredible about ourselves: we can adapt, grow, persevere—and become someone slightly different on the other side.

I'm still working through my overall purpose. I have clarity on parts of it now—the drive to share ideas, to help others find alternative perspectives, to create value through teaching.

But the whole picture? Still emerging. Still ambiguous.

And I'm learning that's exactly as it should be.

Purpose isn't a destination you arrive at and plant a flag.

It's a direction you point yourself toward, knowing the horizon keeps moving but the direction stays true.

In a world of constant disruption and change, our value as advisors isn't in having all the answers.

It's in being willing to sit with clients in the uncomfortable questions, to help them find the pattern in their own stories, and to shepherd them toward a purpose that can't be measured but can absolutely be felt.

The ambiguity isn't the problem. The ambiguity is the point.

The best is ahead!

-Matt