thoughts on purpose and time.

As a creative, there is one thing I fear most: purpose.

I have witnessed (and experienced) how a creative work—whether it be a painting, a book, a film, an album, etc—can impact someone in such a substantial way, it completely alters that individual’s entire perception of life. How it can provoke an exploration into larger thoughts and questions, shift an individual’s planned trajectory of what they aspire to do in life, perhaps even inspire another creation.

Art has power, and recognizing this is part of what influenced me to pursue a career in writing; almost as a return of favor. It is also what has lead me to have persistent fear that my own work has never held such an ability and that it never will.

Now, I don’t say this to seek external validation. I believe there is reason to every existential thought such as this. This fear is also an old friend, and surprisingly, a welcomed one. 

I like to believe my concerns around purpose comes in times of expansion, appearing on the bridge between chapters of my life when I am about to embark on a great change, and when the old ways of thought no longer suit where I am headed to, requiring a shift in what I am doing in order to continue my self-expansion.

It’s like the troll under the bridge. You know, the one who tosses a riddle at the main character in a found-family story when they’re trying to reach the glittering castle in the distance but they have to cross this bridge and the troll announces they have to decipher the riddle first. If they don’t, then they’re stuck because there is no other way to the castle. They can either figure out the twisted words or stay where they are.

Get it?

It’s frustrating, trying to figure out why the question of purpose has decided to show up. Beyond that, even. It’s a complete disturbance of any sense of pre-existing stability, and there are many moments where I want nothing more than to turn around and throw the towel down. To simply accept a place of stagnation. 

But what is the reward of that? Why choose to remain comfortable when there is the opportunity to learn and grow?

While irritating, I know the results that come with these moments are worth every second of discomfort to reach a new place of stability. Because in the end, I gain a new understanding of the world and of those around me. Sometimes I realize what I do now isn’t what fulfills me and I decide to uproot your life (long story here). Or sometimes it’s merely an affirmation of what I thought I already knew. It’s a confirmation, and it allows me to continue forward feeling confident in what I do.

Whatever it may be, there is always reason for it and perhaps that’s why I tolerate it. Though I will say, I haven’t had a moment like this since I was in high school, in the summer before college. Sure, I have had little blips questions what I was doing and whether it was what I was meant to be doing (i.e. why I dropped out of the first college I went to and transferred, changed my major three times, only to drop out again).

But back to the idea of purpose and my fearing lack of.

More specifically, I fear my work is superficial. Merely something consumed on a whim, and made to cater to the demands of an industry rather than my own curiosities, the deeper questions that simmer in my mind. 

I worry I’ve adopted this trait of instant gratification because of yet another fear of mine: the fear of time, or more particularly, the lack of it. 

With the current state our society functions in, constantly connected and ever so persistent on being faster and more efficient, I have long felt a pressure to have a quick turn-around in everything I do. I have also felt a pressure to excel at a young age, to achieve things before the age it is expected of me, otherwise it is considered too late or not of any real achievement.

As a result, I fear I’ve fallen into the pattern of creating not for purpose but to satisfy the cravings of our time; for the temporary, not for the everlasting. I know I am not alone in this. As creative, I am well aware of the balance between creating for personal interest and creating to survive (aka, to make money).

I try to avoid letting the latter influence me. Granted, I think all professional creatives do. If we wanted money, we wouldn’t have pursued careers overwhelmingly subjective industries. But there is always the presence of time breathing down my shoulder.

I think of it like a beast, one that has an insatiable appetite to feed, and I worry that if I am not fast enough in what I make, it will turn on me, leaving me behind to waste away, and anything I may try to do to catch up will never be enough. A slightly extreme analogy, I know. But I think we are all familiar with the innate feeling of needing to constantly be running in order to stay on track, regardless of what industry we are in.

As a result, I have been hyper fixated on quantity over quality—a topic I can write a whole other discussion on, but I promise to stick to this one. This, of course, leads to burn out*; the plague of our century. The world has never faced such a crises with employee retention than right now. 

Why? The simple answer: Generation Z. 

(Bear with me on this, because I promise it all connects)

The longer answer: after witnessing our parents and grandparents compromise their wellbeing, both mental and physical, for a relatively mediocre life they still have to work every day beyond retirement to maintain, we are finally recognizing the benefits they idealize like financial security, owning a home, maybe even having a family, is not worth the cost of our health and happiness. 

Not to be cliché, but we do only have one life—yet another reason why so many (like myself) hyper fixate on this idea of purpose. We know how fragile life is. We know how limited it is, because we aren’t promised to live into our 80s even though we may plan for it, and we want to ensure every moment we do live is led with intention and has a lasting impact far beyond ourselves. We also recognize the likelihood of us being here at this point and time is one of a billion (statistically speaking), so might as well make the most of it, right?

Of course, there are some who don’t invest a single ounce of energy into exploring their “purpose”, and frankly, I don’t blame them. I’d save myself a lot of energy if I simply went about life without a care for the complexities of it. But I am grateful I do because I am able to acknowledge the impact every decision I make has on others. 

As selfish and ego-centric as it may be, I don’t want to be forgotten. I want to be know. I want what I create, what I write to have impact, to provoke thoughts and questions and emotions, just as so many artistic works have done for me.

There is no denying that the media we consume can shape us. It influences our thoughts, molds our perception of the world, forces us to question what we know or think we know, but even more so, it helps us understand the perspectives and experience we can only hope we may never witness first hand, and allows us to be empathetic to those who have. 

As a creative and simply as a human being, I hold it as my responsibility to be aware of the intention behind what I create, because I know the power of a single word just as I know the power of any tangible weapon. 

At the end of the day, purpose is yet another subjective concept, just like success. And in the same vain, it fluctuates, ever-changing as our priorities and values shift. But there will forever be a permanent aspect to it, and that is that we are in charge of it. 

We choose what our purpose is. Whether that is choosing not think much of it and simply being as the present moment sees us to be, or on the opposite end, putting ourselves through loops as we try to untangled the words of the troll’s riddle, all in the hope we might one day make something ever-lasting.

All in all, I know my work can hold purpose. Saying it never can is far too unrealistic, because even if it positively impacts one person, just one, then I will consider my purpose fulfilled. I can only hope that I will have that kind of impact while I am alive and still here to witness it.

Until then, I suppose I can only continue creating, this time, more for me rather than the marketed industry.

Rachel xoxo