A Small Purpose

The morning opened under steady rain, the light still struggling to separate itself from night. Standing there, watching it unfold, an unexpected thought surfaced — quiet, but persistent.

This journey I’m on has begun to feel like a purpose of sorts.

The thought caught me off guard. After years in Bali, listening to endless talk of world-changing purpose, I’d grown tired of the word. Too often it seemed tied to ego — the larger the purpose, the more important the person claiming it. Eventually, I stopped believing in it altogether.

And yet, here I am, turning it over again.

The past year has been heavy. More loss than momentum. More strain than relief. Still, when I look back honestly, it’s clear that training — and the life built around it — kept me moving when everything else was pointing toward collapse.

What I’m doing now isn’t grand. It’s not aimed outward. If anything, it’s quietly self-focused. A way of living that asks me to show up, to keep putting one foot in front of the other, to continue imagining that the future might look different than the past.

It’s a small purpose, centred almost entirely on my own needs. And yet, it’s been enough. Enough to absorb the impact, to carry the weight, to keep me moving through uncertainty toward somewhere I still can’t name.

The road hasn’t been easy. It hasn’t been smooth. But it does feel solid. Training gives it structure. The people around me give it support.

For now, that seems sufficient.