Purpose.

I nervously gripped the steering wheel as I navigated rush hour traffic. My appointment was in five minutes; I was ten minutes away. Deep breaths. Change the radio station. Remind myself it's okay. I'll get there when I get there. But my therapist had gone to great lengths to set me up with another of her colleagues; tardiness would be a poor first impression.

“I'm so sorry I'm late,” I apologized. “Last week's appointment was an hour earlier. I completely forgot about traffic.”

She smiled. “Oh, it's fine. I don't have anyone scheduled after you. We can take our time.”

I sat in the middle of the leather couch, which squeaked underneath me as I shifted to cross my legs. She sat across from me, in a green upholstered chair with deeply scratched wooden arms. She readied her pen and pad.

“So...” she began, “I've heard a bit about you, but I'd like to hear more in your own words. Tell me about yourself.”

I sighed. “Well, I'm twenty-eight. I'm a college graduate, and I work in customer service. I still live with my mother. And I'm single, but I do have a cat.”

She looked up from her notes. “That's all?”

I shrugged and looked around the room, as I tend to do when formulating my thoughts. “I'm not sure what else there is.”

She furrowed her brow and tilted her head. “Is that why you're here?”

“I came initially so I could learn to cope with my anxiety...” I hesitated for a moment as I realized where this line of questioning might go. “But yes. I suppose you're right. That's why I'm here.”

“Great,” she nodded. “What do you like to do?”

“I don't do much, to be totally honest. I like to watch TV and listen to music. I like food and sleep. I guess I'm just not that exciting.”

“Mmhmm.” She paused and leaned forward. “Heather, what brings you joy?”

I scowled. It suddenly felt like everything was spinning. I went through a flipbook of memories in my mind, trying to extract the single moment that had brought me the greatest happiness. My stomach gurgled, my mouth went dry, and the only thing I could say was...

“I don't know.”


I'd never really had time to think about that. Not as an adult, at least. Growing up, I'd go through phases like every other kid. I'd see a puppy and be absolutely certain animals were my passion. I would be a veterinarian, and that would bring me joy. A week later, I'd read a really good book, then spend my every waking hour doing writing of my own. I would be a writer, and that would bring me joy. By the time I reached an age where my desires would be considerably less capricious, I was already entrenched in an adult life. I was a gifted student, to the point that the standard school curriculum bored me. The older I got, the less interested I was in academic pursuits. Nothing challenged me, therefore nothing kept my attention. I longed for something that would keep me occupied, so I was thrilled when I was given the opportunity to begin a part-time job. I was fifteen.

At seventeen, I was hired by an international home furnishings retailer. I remained with the company throughout the rest of high school and all of college. And I was a workaholic. I coasted through my education, just as I'd done when I was younger, and made my job my priority. I preferred being there to being just about anywhere else; the changing environment of retail provided the challenge I'd sought, and I found a family in my coworkers. I was exhausted, never on time for my classes, and I eventually cut my course load in half so I could take a promotion. At one point, I even took on a second job. Finally, I finished my degree at the age of twenty-five. I was ecstatic to be finished with my education. The focus could be solely on work, and that was all I'd ever really wanted.

I left that company in the summer of 2010, after ten years, and accepted a position with a wireless provider in a retail location. The atmosphere was different. I was faced with a lot stagnancy; things didn't change as much, and I found myself with a great deal of downtime. Additionally, this group of people was not, and would never be, a family. Just being there became progressively more difficult. After a particularly hard day during the spring, I came home and fell apart. I sat on the edge of my bed and cried. I finally had the chance to slow down and think about my life, and I realized that I'd merely opted for the first thing that gave a frustrated teenager any kind of satisfaction, neglecting the fact that I was no longer that teenager. I got stuck, then fooled myself into spending more than a decade of my life doing something I actually hated. That epiphany was bad enough; even worse was not knowing what I liked.


And that's how I found myself in therapy. I've dealt with anxiety most of my adult life, but the stress of my recent revelation had broken me. I was questioning almost everything about myself, including whether I ever actually knew who I truly was or what I wanted. I arrived in that office completely lost. As introspective and analytical as I'd been all my life, it seemed I'd only scrutinized the most trivial aspects of myself. I had deep thoughts about superficial things. Now I was faced with the reality of my own discontent, and I had no idea how to change it.

Where do I begin finding my passion? How do I determine what is of the most value to me? What am I meant to contribute to this world? And how will I ultimately define myself?

But now I wonder... What if all these questions are actually the answer?