How to find purpose when you feel lost

You might be tempted to white-knuckle your way out of this. To force yourself to ‘just decide’ or ‘pick a path already.’ But here’s the thing: rushing usually backfires. That panicked energy? It’s your nervous system sounding an alarm, not a deadline. So instead of fighting the feeling, try sitting with it for a minute. Name it. ‘I feel lost right now.’ Say it out loud. There’s something powerful in admitting it—like finally taking off shoes that have been pinching your feet all day.

I once spent three months in what I called my ‘fog season.’ Every morning, I’d wake up with this heavy dread, like I was supposed to be somewhere but had forgotten where. It wasn’t until I stopped trying to ‘fix’ it and just let myself feel it that I noticed the small things: the way sunlight hit my wall at 7:13 a.m., the sound of my neighbor’s dog barking at the mailman. Those tiny details? They were clues. Not answers, but breadcrumbs. Your fog has clues too. You just have to slow down enough to see them.

When you’re lost, it’s easy to forget what used to matter to you. But those things? They’re still there, buried under layers of ‘shoulds’ and expectations. So grab a notebook and ask: What do I still care about, even when I’m exhausted? It could be something small—a podcast you listen to on repeat, a recipe you keep making, the way your hands feel when you’re gardening. Those little sparks? They’re your values whispering.

I had a client who swore she had no passions left. ‘I used to love painting,’ she said, ‘but I haven’t touched a brush in years.’ We started small: she bought one tube of blue paint and dabbed it on a scrap of paper. Just that. No masterpiece, no pressure. The next week, she sent me a photo of a tiny watercolor sky she’d made. ‘I forgot how quiet my brain gets when I do this,’ she wrote. That’s the thing about values—they don’t disappear. They just wait for you to remember.

Here’s the truth: you don’t have to commit to anything right now. You’re not picking a life path—you’re just window-shopping. So give yourself permission to try things without deciding if they’re ‘the one.’ Take a class. Volunteer. Go to a meetup. But here’s the key: treat it like an experiment, not a test. Did you enjoy it? Great. Did you hate it? Also great. Either way, you learned something.

I once signed up for a pottery class on a whim. The first session, I made a lopsided bowl that looked like it had been attacked by a toddler. I wanted to quit. But the instructor said, ‘What if you just play with the clay this week? No goal, no pressure.’ So I did. And something shifted. I wasn’t a potter. But I loved the way the clay felt in my hands—the way it resisted, then yielded. That tiny moment? It led me to try sculpting, which led me to a community art project, which led me to… well, I’m still figuring that part out. But the point is, I didn’t have to ‘be’ a potter. I just had to show up and see what happened.

When you’re lost, it’s easy to spiral: What if I never figure this out? What if I’m wasting my life? But here’s the thing about momentum: it doesn’t start with big leaps. It starts with tiny, almost invisible steps. So ask yourself: What’s one small thing I can do today that future me will thank me for? It could be drinking a glass of water. Taking a walk. Texting a friend to say, ‘I’m having a hard time.’

I keep a jar on my desk labeled ‘Little Wins.’ It’s full of scraps of paper with things like: ‘Went to bed before midnight’ or ‘Said no to something I didn’t want to do.’ On days when I feel like I’m failing at everything, I pull out a handful and read them. They don’t fix the big questions, but they remind me: I’m still moving. Even if I can’t see the path yet. And that’s enough.

There’s this myth that we’re supposed to figure life out alone. But the truth? Even the people who seem like they’ve got it all together have had moments (or years) of feeling lost. So reach out to someone who’s been where you are. Not for advice, necessarily—just for company. Tell them, ‘I’m in a weird place right now. Can I just talk?’

I’ll never forget the time I called my friend Sarah, voice shaking, and said, ‘I don’t know what I’m doing with my life.’ She laughed—not in a mean way, but like she was remembering something. ‘Oh honey,’ she said. ‘I spent two years crying in my car after work. You’re not lost. You’re just in the middle of the story.’ That’s the power of someone who’s been there. They don’t have to fix you. They just have to remind you that this is part of the journey, not the end of it.

We’ve been sold this lie that purpose is a lightning bolt—a single moment where everything becomes clear. But for most of us? It’s quieter than that. It’s a patchwork of small moments: the way you feel when you’re helping a friend, the quiet pride of finishing a project, the comfort of a routine that actually works for you. Purpose isn’t a destination. It’s the thread that connects the little things that matter.

I used to think I needed to ‘find my calling.’ But then I realized: my calling isn’t one thing. It’s teaching my niece how to make pancakes on Saturday mornings. It’s writing these words because they might help someone feel less alone. It’s the way my dog looks at me when I come home, like I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to him. None of those things are grand. But together? They’re my purpose. And yours is waiting for you in the small, ordinary moments too.

Here’s the scariest part about feeling lost: What if I pick the wrong thing? But here’s the secret: there is no ‘wrong thing.’ There’s just what you choose today, and what you might choose tomorrow. The goal isn’t to find the perfect path. It’s to take a step, see how it feels, and adjust.

I changed careers three times in my 30s. Each time, I felt like a failure—like I was starting over. But now? I see it differently. Those ‘failures’ were just detours that led me to where I am now. And where I am now? It’s not the end. It’s just the next chapter. So if you’re afraid to choose because you might ‘get it wrong,’ remember: you’re not building a house. You’re planting a garden. And gardens grow and change with the seasons.