Beyond the Pivot: How to Discover Your True Purpose When Nothing Feels Familiar
By Sam — Divorced at 34. Rebuilt everything. Here to tell you the second chapter is better. ·
It’s July in Portland, and if you’ve ever spent a summer here, you know the air has this specific, golden quality to it—like the world is holding its breath. I was sitting on my back porch this morning with Frank, my senior bulldog, watching the light filter through the Douglas firs. He was snoring softly, chasing literal dreams, while I was reflecting on where I was four years ago.
At 34, my life was a neatly organized spreadsheet. I had the title, the house, the husband, the trajectory. Then, the spreadsheet caught fire. When the dust settled and the divorce was finalized, I didn’t just lose a partner; I lost the identity I’d built for a decade. People talk about "finding your purpose" like it’s a set of keys you dropped under the sofa. But let me tell you: purpose isn’t lost. It’s buried under the debris of the life you thought you were supposed to live.
Stop Looking for a Lightning Bolt
We love the narrative of the "Aha!" moment—the sudden, cinematic realization where everything clicks. But real, sustainable purpose isn’t a lightning bolt. It’s more like a slow-moving tectonic shift.
When I quit my Fortune 500 job and started consulting for startups, people asked me, "How did you know that was your path?" The truth? I didn’t. I just knew I couldn't be the person I was in that boardroom anymore. I started by eliminating what I hated. I hated the commute. I hated the performative meetings. I hated not being able to pick Lily up from school without feeling like I was failing someone.
Purpose often starts in the negative space. It starts by identifying what you are no longer willing to tolerate. What makes your chest tighten? What activities drain your soul rather than replenish it? Start there. By clearing out the rot, you create the room for your actual interests to breathe.
The Explorer’s Methodology: Iteration Over Intention
In my marketing days, we were obsessed with "Big Launches." But in life, especially when you’re rebuilding after a major shakeup, big launches are a recipe for burnout. You don't need a mission statement; you need a lab.
Treat your life like a series of low-stakes experiments. If you think you might be interested in writing, don’t quit your job to write a novel. Start a Substack. If you think you want to transition into tech, take one project-based contract.
I spent six months doing small, weird consulting gigs—everything from brand strategy for a local bakery to helping a friend scale their e-commerce store. It wasn’t "glamorous," but it allowed me to collect data on myself. I learned that I love the chaos of startups, but I thrive when I have the autonomy to choose my clients. That insight didn't come from a meditation retreat; it came from the dirt of doing the work.
Audit Your Energy, Not Your Résumé
We are conditioned to value things that look good on a LinkedIn profile. But your purpose isn't a job title. It's an energy signature.
I want you to try this: for the next week, keep a "Energy Audit" in your phone. Every time you finish a task, note whether it gave you energy or took it away.
- Was it the work itself?
- Was it the environment?
- Was it the people you were around?
If you find yourself energized by solving complex problems but drained by managing office politics, your purpose isn't "work." Your purpose is "problem-solving." That distinction is massive. It moves you from being a cog in a machine to a person who can apply their unique skill set to a thousand different environments.
Embrace the Sage: Growth Requires Destruction
There is a part of us that mourns the "old" life, even if that life was miserable. It’s comfortable. It’s familiar. But you cannot build a skyscraper on an unstable foundation.
I had to let go of the idea that I needed to be "an executive." That was a costume I wore to impress people I didn’t even like. Once I accepted that the destruction of my old life was the greatest gift I’d ever received, my purpose became clear: to help others navigate their own wreckage.
Your second chapter isn’t a repeat of the first with different actors. It’s a completely different genre. If you’re feeling lost, it’s only because you’re still trying to read from the old script. Close the book. Write the first line of the new one, even if it’s just a sentence about what you’re having for lunch or a skill you’re curious about.
A Final Note from the Porch
Finding your purpose is messy, it’s inconvenient, and it’s rarely linear. It’s a series of pivots, mistakes, and tiny wins. But it’s yours. And honestly? It’s the most fun you’ll ever have.
Are you in the middle of a reset right now? Or maybe you’re just starting to feel the itch to change things up but don't know where to pull the thread? Hit reply and tell me where you’re at. I read every message, and I’d love to hear what’s on your mind.
Let’s get to work,
Sam