Issue No. 96

Most of us are raised to believe that life operates like a straight line. You discover your passion early, commit to it wholeheartedly, and follow it until the end. It’s a tidy narrative, one that promises clarity and purpose. But reality rarely conforms to such simplicity. Life is messy, unpredictable, and full of detours. What if the idea of finding one singular purpose isn’t just unrealistic—it’s unnecessary?

As a product manager, my role revolves around piecing together ideas, solving problems, and building solutions that improve people’s lives. It’s not the career I envisioned for myself as a child. Back then, my dreams were scattered across professions: pilot, doctor, soldier, scientist, engineer. Each aspiration felt monumental at the time, but none stuck. In the Philippines, after high school, I started with Psychology, switched to Biology, and later transitioned to Chemical Engineering when I earned a scholarship in Korea. By the time I graduated from Yonsei University, I realized something surprising: none of those degrees directly applied to my current job. For years, I questioned whether all those shifts meant I lacked focus or ambition. But now, looking back, I see how each step revealed a deeper truth about who I am.

What I discovered wasn’t tied to a title or profession. Beneath the surface of my scattered interests lay a consistent thread: I love creating things—whether it’s designing processes, developing strategies, or launching products that make an impact. As a product manager, this comes alive every day. My work allows me to blend analytical thinking with creative problem-solving, turning abstract ideas into tangible realities. It’s not glamorous, but it fulfills me because it aligns with what I’m good at, what I enjoy, and what the world needs, and what I can get paid for. This feels like my ikigai—a Japanese concept describing the intersection of passion, skill, contribution, and sustainability. Yet, I don’t consider this my final destination. Why should it be? Life is too dynamic to lock myself into one identity forever.

This perspective deepened recently while watching Pixar’s Soul. The film explores purpose through its characters’ journeys, particularly Joe Gardner and 22. Joe spends much of his life chasing his dream of becoming a professional jazz musician, convinced that achieving this goal will give his life meaning. Meanwhile, 22—a soul yet to find her “spark”—has no interest in Earth or any grand purpose. She resists the notion that she must achieve something extraordinary to matter. Her arc takes a poignant turn when she finally experiences life’s small joys: the taste of pizza, the rustle of leaves in the wind, the warmth of human connection. Through these moments, 22 realizes that purpose doesn’t have to be monumental or predefined. Sometimes, it’s simply about living—feeling alive in the present moment.

22’s realization struck a chord with me. Like her, I spent so much of my life searching for some lofty purpose, believing that fulfillment would come only when I achieved a specific milestone. But purpose isn’t always found in grand achievements; it’s often hidden in the everyday. As a product manager, I’ve learned to appreciate the value of incremental progress—the satisfaction of refining a feature, streamlining a process, or seeing users benefit from something I helped create. These aren’t earth-shattering accomplishments, but they bring meaning to my days. They remind me that purpose isn’t a single summit to climb; it’s a series of steps along a winding path.

The truth is, most people aren’t confined to one career or passion for their entire lives. Studies show that the average person changes careers—not just jobs—three to five times. Some transitions are gradual; others are radical. A baker becomes a software engineer. A model dives into marine biology. A psychologist trades therapy sessions for dance studios. These transformations aren’t failures; they’re evidence of growth. Society may pressure us to pick a single lane and stay in it, but why should we? When did we decide that adaptability—a hallmark of human resilience—was a flaw rather than a strength?

Some of the happiest people I know don’t view their work as separate from themselves. They don’t force themselves to endure it; they immerse themselves in it because it aligns with who they are. When your efforts flow naturally from your passions, hard work doesn’t feel burdensome. It becomes an extension of your identity, something you do because it feels right.

The key is to stop chasing some predetermined idea of what your life “should” look like. Instead, pay attention to what makes you feel alive in the present moment. Build a life that feels authentic, not prescribed. Trust that your purpose will find you—not once, but repeatedly—as long as you remain open to discovering it. After all, life isn’t a straight line. It’s a winding road, full of unexpected turns and hidden treasures. And sometimes, the greatest gift we can give ourselves is permission to embrace its unpredictability.

Until next week,