Man, I spent years chasing the wrong things. Just like everyone else, I was told the only way to make it was to get that solid, stable corporate gig. So I landed this job in logistics, right? Solid paycheck, good benefits, the whole nine yards. I thought, “This is it, this is what ‘career purpose’ looks like.”
Spoiler alert: It wasn’t. It was three years of staring at spreadsheets and optimization reports. Every single day felt like I was wearing shoes three sizes too small. Everything was numbers, efficiency, moving boxes faster, making the whole supply line cleaner. I’d sit there in those dreary meetings feeling like I was underwater, just floating, totally disconnected from what anyone was even rambling about. I was absolutely miserable, but I kept telling myself, “Suck it up, this is the grown-up life, this is how you make real money.”
Then last winter, things just hit the fan for real. I was stuck on a massive project, something about streamlining warehouse operations across three states, and I just snapped. Not yelling at anyone, not quitting dramatically, but just a complete internal short circuit. I couldn’t focus on anything. I started crying in the break room one day over a stale donut, which was pathetic, I know. I knew right then I had totally burnt myself out on a purpose that wasn’t even mine. That big salary I was so proud of? It felt like the biggest, lamest trap I’d built for myself.
The Messy Start of the Journey
I took two weeks off. No planning, no applications for a new job, just sitting around the house feeling guilty and totally confused about my future. That’s when my older sister, who’s all into that horoscope and crystal stuff, threw this book at me. It was all about how people like me—the daydreamers, the ones who feel everything deeply—we mess ourselves up constantly trying to fit into those rigid, square boxes. It talked about needing work that actually feeds your soul, not just work that keeps the bank account happy. I didn’t even believe in star signs, but what it said about feeling lost and needing connection? Yeah, that part hit home hard.
So I quit. Just like that, I walked out. No new job lined up. My old boss called me nuts, the HR lady sighed really loud, and my parents thought I was having a complete early-life crisis and wasting my good degree. I desperately needed to figure out what actually lit a fire under me, not just what kept the monthly rent paid.
I messed around for a few months. I honestly tried a lot of nonsense because I had no clue what I was looking for. Real practical stuff, you know?
- Attempt One: Tried to be a freelance graphic designer. Watched a ton of online tutorials, figured out the software enough to be dangerous. Turns out, I’m terrible at taking client feedback and even worse at meeting any kind of deadline. Gave that up pretty quick after one disastrous logo design.
- Attempt Two: Volunteered full-time at an animal shelter for about a month. Loved the animals, absolutely hated the administration and the mountain of paperwork involved in adoption. It felt like the same old logistics job I left, but this time with more fur and less money. Another total waste of time.
- Attempt Three: Looked into getting certified for financial planning because I thought maybe I was just bad at managing my own money. Spent $500 on a course and quit on module two. Too dry, too focused on raw, pure profit. I couldn’t stand it.
I was really starting to run low on savings and the real panic was totally setting in. I felt like the biggest, most broke failure you could imagine. All that so-called self-discovery garbage was just making me poor.
The Unexpected Perfect Match
Then, a buddy of mine, Kevin, who runs this really small community arts outreach program, called me up out of the blue. He needed someone to manage their pathetic social media and help organize their little workshops for local kids and seniors. It was minimum wage, extremely part-time, and definitely not the professional rebound I needed for my resume. But I said yes immediately, mostly just to get me out of that depressing apartment.
I started organizing the classes. I wasn’t teaching the actual painting or the ceramics; I was just making absolutely sure the materials were there, the room was set up right, the schedules were clear, and everyone felt genuinely welcome. I talked to the older folks about their projects and the little kids about their drawings. And man, that simple feeling of helping someone else finally unlock their own tiny bit of creativity, even if it was just making sure the paint water was clean and fresh, changed everything for me.
It sounds stupid when I say it out loud, but seeing the sheer relief on an overworked teacher’s face when I took care of all the annoying behind-the-scenes garbage, that was my “purpose.” It suddenly wasn’t about the spreadsheets of moving products anymore. It was completely about connection and support for others. I wasn’t the one creating the art, but I was the one creating the essential safe space for the art to even happen.
Now, I’m still working there, but I’ve expanded the role significantly. I manage all their grant applications now, which actually uses all those boring organizational skills I learned in that soul-crushing logistics job, but I’m doing it for something I truly care about now. The money isn’t huge, sure, but I wake up not feeling like I have to swim frantically upstream just to get to my damn desk. That feeling of being totally aligned with the work—that’s the real win here. Forget the fancy corporate titles and the huge six-figure salaries. I finally figured out that my best job isn’t one that just demands my raw, practical skills, but one that lets me use those exact skills to support the messy, creative, and sometimes totally chaotic things I actually care about. It took years of completely screwing up and feeling miserable to finally find it, but I finally feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
