The Purpose Paradox
The Gnawing Doubt
You know that certain kind of itch? The sort that’s just beyond reach that no amount of scratching can fix? It starts somewhere in the back of your mind, just out of reach, and mutters, Is this really it? Is this like, everything? Is this my life? Like all of it?
That was me, sitting at my ‘hot’ desk, staring at the flickering screen of my computer as if it held the answers to life’s existential mysteries. Spoiler alert!: it didn’t. Instead, it held emails—hundreds of them—each one a reminder of my slow, plodding march toward boring mediocrity.
Around me, the office hummed with the kind of energy that looks furiously productive on the surface but feels like a hollow sham. People moved about, tapping away at keyboards, nodding at each other in passing, pretending we were all on some grand journey to corporate enlightenment. But me? I was just trying to figure out why everyone else seemed so fine with it all.
Susan from HR floated by, her unnaturally bright smile slicing through my thoughts. “Morning! Big day ahead?” Her voice cut the air like a hyperactive child with a whistle.
I nodded, offering her a half-hearted smile that probably looked more like a grimace. Big day? Sure. If you count staring at spreadsheets and pretending to care about the latest synergy initiative as big.
The itch was growing, though. The one that said there was more to life than this. That maybe, just maybe, I was meant for something more. But what? And how?
The Seminar That Changed Nothing (Yet)
That’s when the email hit my inbox: Leading with Purpose Seminar – Last Chance!
I clicked it, not out of interest, but out of sheer desperation for distraction. I expected the usual corporate fluff—phrases like maximising your potential or achieving your goals—but instead, the first sentence grabbed me by the throat: "Do you ever feel like something's missing? Like you're meant for more than this?"
Yes. Yes, I do.
As I skimmed the email, a name jumped out at me: Madeline Marchbanks. She was leading the seminar. The Madeline Marchbanks. She had one of those names that carried weight, like it belonged to someone who knew important things. Things about life. Things that maybe, just maybe, could explain why I was stuck in this endless loop of discontent.
Without thinking—because if I thought about it too long, I’d talk myself out of it—I signed up. I wasn’t expecting a miracle, but I was desperate for something to shake me out of this rut. OK, I was expecting a miracle. I was, if I were being completely honest, hoping that someone else would magic me out of this rut.
‘Neuroplasticity’ the word popped out of the email. Oh, Yeah, I remembered reading about it in some article. The brain’s ability to change and adapt. Maybe that’s what I needed—a little rewiring. Or maybe I was just hoping for an escape hatch from the monotony.
Either way, I hit “Register.”
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The Battle of Brain and Heart
The seminar was… underwhelming, to say the least. Madeline Marchbanks? Oh, she was good—too good. She had this way of talking that made you feel like she was speaking directly to your soul, like she’d seen into the darkest parts of your mind and found a way to laugh at them. She talked about purpose, about leading with intent, and for a moment, I believed her.
“People don’t become leaders by accident,” she said, her eyes locking onto mine in a way that made me feel seen. “You have to choose it. You have to believe it.”
But now, back in my cubicle, staring once again at those unread emails, the gnawing doubt returned. Could I really do this? Could I lead? Wasn’t leadership reserved for people who already had it all figured out? You know, the ones with the job title and the expensive suits?
Gilbert Grimshaw’s voice echoed in my head: “Potential isn’t enough, Percival. You lack execution.” Right. As if leadership was just a box you checked off on a to-do list.
I sighed. The amygdala, that lovely little almond shaped part of the brain responsible for fear, was having a field day with me. Fear is the brain’s way of protecting you from change, Madeline had said during the seminar. It’s an outdated survival instinct.
Maybe that’s all this was—my brain screaming at me to stay safe, to avoid the unknown. But I was tired of playing it safe. Maybe it was time to do something radical. Like believe in myself.
The Epiphany (Sort Of)
The project landed on my desk with all the grace of a dead fish. Grimshaw had handed it off with a smirk, his words dripping with condescension: “Lead it, or it drowns.”
I stared at the mess of timelines, data, and vague objectives, my heart sinking. My brain was already firing off its usual panic signals—cortisol, adrenaline, the works. It was like having a backseat driver screaming at you to turn around when all you wanted to do was move forward.
But then something shifted. A memory surfaced, something ...
