Some people arrive in this world
as if gently introduced—
a quiet entry,
a polite negotiation with gravity.
Others arrive like a declaration.
Not loud, necessarily.
But certain.
The kind of certainty
that startles the room
before the room knows why.
I suspect purpose works like that.
It does not always arrive
with a trumpet or a map.
Sometimes it appears
as a small, persistent knowing—
a steady pulse beneath the ordinary
that whispers,
You are not here by accident.
It is a strange thing
to feel this early.
As a child, you notice it
before you have language for it—
that sensation of standing slightly apart
from the choreography of everyone else’s expectations.
You observe.
You listen.
You realize the world is fascinating,
But you were not designed
to move through it
half-awake.
Purpose, I’ve learned,
It is not the dramatic entrance
people imagine.
It is quieter than that.
It sits beside you
while you drink tea.
It taps your shoulder
When you try to settle
for smaller rooms.
It says—very calmly—
That will not do.
Not because you are better.
But because you are specific.
And specificity is its own kind of destiny.
Of course, the world has opinions
about such things.
It prefers humility in digestible portions.
It becomes nervous around certainty—
especially the quiet kind
that does not ask permission to exist.
Still, there is something gracious
about embodying one’s purpose.
Not arrogance.
Not spectacle.
Just a steady willingness
to stand where you were placed
and breathe fully into it.
I confess
There is a certain humor in it, too.
Watching people attempt
to decipher you
as if you were a puzzle
meant to be solved—
when in fact
You were never a puzzle at all.
Just a person
born with an instruction
written somewhere in the marrow.
Purpose is breathtaking
not because it dazzles—
But because it clarifies.
Suddenly, the path becomes
less about chasing approval
and more about walking
with remarkable steadiness
toward the work
that has been waiting for you
since before you had a name.
And when you finally accept it—
truly accept it—
A curious calm settles in.
You stop rushing.
You stop shrinking.
You stop apologizing
for the scale of the sky
you were meant to carry.
You simply stand.
Present.
Amused, even.
Knowing that purpose
was never something
You had to invent.
Only something
You had to remember–
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