On Purpose and Permission
Permission, Holy Habits, Evolution, Accountability, Determination, Success
I.
Permission
I think the biggest reason people are afraid to express themselves is because they believe their ideas will not be good enough. But who gets to decide whether an idea is any good or not? Who is the arbiter of good ideas? (And how do I get in touch with them?)
The more you expose yourself to ideas—written, spoken, artistic, brilliant, bland, mindboggling—the more you realize that ideas come in all shapes and sizes. There aren’t just good ideas and bad ideas; big ideas and small ideas. There are ideas that strike a chord within you and those that don’t. The ideas that resonate with you may not resonate with someone else and vice versa, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that the architect of the idea dared to write it down—to let it flow—and, because of that, the idea made its way to you.
The more you expose yourself to ideas, the more you’ll give yourself permission to trust in your ideas. You’ll read an entire book and think, “Wow, I could do better than that.” And you can. You can unleash your ideas into the world and give others the permission to do the same. And you will.
If you let your ideas flow.
II.
Holy Habits
As we enter the holiday season and begin drafting New Year’s resolutions, I urge you to consider setting goals that align with who you really are, not who you think you should be.
For years, I’ve set goals and resolutions that did not align with what I’m designed to do. I wanted to learn how to code, become super-model-skinny, start a podcast, get a promotion, acquire thousands of followers, learn Spanish, live abroad, and so on, so forth. These goals didn’t actually align with my intrinsic interests and God-given talents, rather, they were things that I thought I should want for myself. They were things that society told me were worthwhile.
And so I began every January off to a good start—learning new skills, working out, posting digital clutter, collecting XP on Duolingo—that is, until I got bored.
When we set habits that don’t align with what we’re designed to do, we inevitably find ourselves feeling burned out and cynical. This is not to say that we shouldn’t set high expectations for ourselves—we most definitely should—but we should set those expectations in the context of what we are called to do. If we don’t hone our intrinsic talents and interests because we’re too busy chasing the dreams of others, we’ll soon find ourselves in deep distress and regret. We’ll wonder what could’ve been had we followed our dreams.
So, before you set goals for the year ahead, take some time to better understand yourself. Who are you? What makes you feel fulfilled, aligned, purposeful? How would you spend your time if money weren’t an issue?
Perhaps, instead of setting tiny habits for yourself in 2025, consider setting the momentous goal of figuring out who you’re designed to be. And if you already know, set mindful habits to support you in your becoming.
III.
Evolution
I wasn’t always called to be a writer. My family is not particularly scholarly; we never had books at home; and when I was bored, I would play outside, watch TV, or draw. When asked what I wanted to be in elementary school, I would say a singer. When told that my dream was impractical, I decided to be a news reporter. By middle school, my parents told me I should aspire to be a doctor. That wasn’t appealing, so I went into business.
It wasn’t until a few years ago that I realized I was called to write. At the time, I had a lucrative job but felt disconnected, misaligned, and purposeless. I worked with lobbyists to draft and push legislation I didn’t believe in. I lied about reality, truth, and science in front of crowds of so-called experts. I sacrificed my ethos and integrity for money and recognition. I lied to myself and I lost myself. And there was no way I’d find myself again while remaining in the illusion of “success” I’d created.
Before finding myself, I had to hit Rock Bottom. I had to surrender all the petty things I thought I wanted. I had to accept full responsibility for my one and only life. I had to reevaluate my values. Transvaluation of values, as Nietzsche put it.
From my experience, I believe what we are designed to do changes as we do. Perhaps we neglect a past calling, and while we’ll never know what could’ve been, we are given a second chance. We are granted as many chances as we need. We are never useless; we are only ever useful. And we are made to be used up. But it’s up to each one of us to find out how we can best be used in our lifetime. And when our purpose changes, we must find our new purpose.
IV.
Accountability
Who doesn’t love the idea of an eternal life in heaven? The notion certainly eases some of the existential dread that comes with mortal life on Earth. But I wouldn’t put all my eggs in the basket of a “life after life.” Doing so can make you feel less beholden to this life. And I don’t think it’s wise to feel any less accountable for our lives than we currently do.
The thing is, whether or not we’ll be given an afterlife depends on the choices we make and actions we take in this life. At this very moment in time, this life is the one we should be focused on. When another life comes, if it does, then is the time to focus on that life.
In this life, the average person can expect to live for about 4,000 weeks. (4,000 weeks = 28,000 days = 76½ years.) Regardless of how many weeks you’ve lived thus far, you’ve got some weeks to go.1 If you’re still alive, it’s for a reason —your mission here is not complete. If it were, you’d already be living the next life.
V.
Determination
My 90-year-old grandpa fell. My mom found him lying on the floor the following day. By that point, he had a brain bleed, was suffering from hypothermia, and could hardly speak. The ambulance came and rushed him to the hospital. He hates the hospital. His wife died at the hospital.
The hospital staff did the stuff that hospital staff do to 90-year-old people who arrive in grandpa’s condition. They gave him IV fluids and medication, put him on a ventilator, hooked up a catheter and feeding tube. As his brain swelling decreased and he realized what was going on, grandpa started disconnecting all the wires and tubes and gadgets that were hooked up to him. He was determined to get the hell out of there. He made plans for days ahead. He wasn’t going to die in that damn hospital.
The determination my grandpa has to live is unlike anything I’ve witnessed. I’ve recently had two other grandparents pass, and I never saw that level of determination in them. The desire to live was there, but not the determination. His determination—not health, not nutrition, not environment—is what I believe sets grandpa apart.
A couple years ago, I sent grandpa a copy of Viktor Frankl’s book, Man’s Search for Meaning. Like Frankl, grandpa lost his wife. Like Frankl, he found the meaning in suffering. Like Frankl, he never lost the resolve to live. Grandpa thanked me “for the literature,” and he never read the book. But he didn’t have to. He doesn’t need to read about what it takes to survive life’s greatest challenges because he has what it takes. He has the will to keep on living.
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