The Problem With “Purpose”
When work stops paying you, people start asking what gives your life meaning. Usually because they still assume meaning is cheaper than rent.
There’s a specific kind of conversation people start having with you once your career collapses.
Not immediately. At first they stay practical.
“Have you applied here?”
“What about consulting?”
“You should talk to so-and-so.”
The assumption is still that the machine works and you’ve just slipped off the conveyor belt for a minute.
But after enough time passes, the tone changes.
That’s when the word “purpose” shows up.
Not from cruel people. Usually thoughtful people. Educated people. People trying to help. But you can feel the transition happen in real time.
They stop talking about reintegration and start talking about meaning.
“What do you really want to do?”
“Maybe this is an opportunity.”
“What fulfills you?”
Which sounds nice until you realize fulfillment is being offered as a substitute product for economic stability.
That’s not the same thing.
Labor Used to Explain Me
For most of my life, I had an answer ready when people asked what I did.
Journalism. Photography. Marketing. Cybersecurity. Content strategy. Brand systems. Whatever version of the job existed at that point in the timeline.
The answer did more than explain my income. It explained me.
People understood where to place me socially. I understood where to place myself. The job acted like compression software for identity.
You didn’t have to explain your values or your usefulness. Your labor handled the introduction.
Then the labor stopped converting.
That’s the real shock of unemployment after a certain age. Not just the money. The sudden absence of social coordinates.
You become harder to summarize.
And America hates an unsummarizable man.
The Culture Loves “Purpose” Right Up Until Payroll
People talk about purpose the way tech companies talk about “community.”
It sounds deep until budgets tighten.
Then suddenly everyone remembers the actual hierarchy:
Revenue
Stability
Optics
Maybe fulfillment if there’s room left
Nobody says this directly because modern professional culture runs on emotional theater.
Jobs are supposed to be meaningful now. Careers are supposed to reflect identity. Work isn’t just work anymore. It’s personal branding with health insurance.
But the second the numbers go bad, all that language evaporates instantly.
The company that called you “family” becomes legally careful.
The manager who praised your vision starts discussing “headcount reduction.”
The mission statement survives longer than the employees do.
That’s not hypocrisy exactly. It’s incentives.
Meaning is optional. Payroll is not.
I Noticed It in Myself Too
This is the uncomfortable part.
I liked the identity my career gave me.
Not just the income. The positioning. Sometimes the posturing.
Competent. Experienced. Useful. Someone with momentum.
There’s a version of masculinity built around being economically legible. You produce, therefore you matter. You solve, therefore you belong.
When that structure weakens, panic leaks in through strange places.
You start overexplaining yourself. Listing old accomplishments internally like expired credentials. Holding onto former versions of yourself long after the market has moved on.
I catch myself doing it constantly.
“I used to…” has become dangerous sentence construction.
Not because the past isn’t real. Because it can quietly replace the present.
Purpose Is Cheap Advice
The people suggesting purpose aren’t entirely wrong.
Meaning matters. Structure matters. Having some reason to get up matters.
But purpose has become a kind of luxury language in certain circles. A softer way to discuss economic displacement without discussing economics directly.
If someone with savings, property, healthcare and professional status says:
“Maybe this is your chance to discover what really matters.”
What they often mean is:
“I cannot emotionally process how fragile modern work actually is, so I need this to become spiritually coherent.”
That’s the real transaction.
Purpose becomes narrative insulation.
Because if hard work and competence are no longer enough protection, then everyone sitting comfortably inside the system has a problem.
So the story has to become transformational.
You’re not collapsing. You’re evolving.
You’re not economically displaced. You’re rediscovering yourself.
You’re not scared. You’re on a journey.
Journey is one of the worst words ever invented.
The Truth Is Smaller Than That
The truth is I still need income.
I still need healthcare.
I still need functioning hands after surgery.
I still need enough money to not spend every day negotiating with gravity.
Purpose does not remove those requirements.
What it can do, maybe, is stop you from rotting while you rebuild.
That’s different.
Photography still matters to me. Writing still matters. Making things still matters. Not because they magically solved my financial situation, but because they keep part of my brain alive while the rest of me handles administrative survival.
That’s less romantic than “finding purpose.”
It’s maintenance.
The Most Dangerous Fantasy
The biggest risk for me now is not failure.
It’s abstraction.
Turning this entire period into philosophy instead of dealing with the concrete mechanics of getting stable again.
There’s a seductive version of collapse where you become “the thoughtful broke guy.” The observer. The commentator. The man who understands the system beautifully while continuing to drown inside it.
I can feel that temptation.
Understanding incentives is not the same thing as escaping them.
At some point, the writing has to connect back to reality:
Income.
Work.
Health.
Functionality.
Time.
Otherwise this becomes intellectualized poverty. Which is still poverty, just with better developed sentences.
What Labor Actually Was
I think what I’m finally understanding is that work was never just about purpose.
It was rhythm.
Structure.
Proof of usefulness.
Social positioning.
Time organization.
Identity reinforcement.
Delayed panic.
Money was only part of the machinery.
When the machinery disappears, people rush to replace it with inspirational language because silence is too revealing.
But silence reveals something important: Most people are much closer to losing their identity than they think.
Not because they lack depth.
Because the economy quietly rented it back to them one paycheck at a time.