Finding Purpose
There’s something about walking the west coast of Scotland that makes it easier to hear yourself think. Maybe it’s the wide, open sky, or the waves folding onto the shore, or simply the fact that my dog is far more interested in a stick than in my life plans. Today, as we follow the path together, I’m thinking about finding purpose—and whether it has to be one big, brilliant answer.
At first, the walk is a way to get some distance from the noise in my head. The everyday questions come along for a while: Am I doing enough? Am I heading in the right direction? But with each step, they soften. The path asks for something simpler. Watch where you’re going. Notice the wind. Don’t miss the view because you’re busy trying to solve your whole life before lunch.
My dog is a very good guide to the present moment. A patch of grass, a curious scent, a gull lifting into the air—everything deserves full attention. There’s no hurry to turn a walk into a lesson, but I find myself wondering what might change if I brought some of that curiosity to my own days. Perhaps purpose isn’t always a fixed destination. Sometimes it’s the willingness to pay attention to what feels alive, and to follow that feeling a little further.
The coast has its own way of reminding me that not everything can be controlled. The weather shifts; the tide keeps its time; the path bends out of sight. I can plan the walk, but I can’t make the clouds part on cue. That feels familiar. I’d like certainty before I choose my next step, but perhaps certainty isn’t a requirement. Maybe finding purpose means moving with care even when the whole route isn’t visible.
And purpose doesn’t have to be grand to matter. It might be showing up for someone, making something with patience, caring for an animal, or giving yourself room to change. Out here, the important things feel less like achievements and more like connections: the leash in my hand, the sound of the sea, the familiar company beside me. Small acts can still add up to a life that feels meaningful.
By the time we turn back, I haven’t discovered a perfect answer. My dog is carrying a stick that is much too large, and the wind has rearranged my hair. But I feel a little less pressed to name my purpose all at once. Maybe it’s something we uncover through attention, through choices, and through the people and places we keep returning to. For today, walking this beautiful stretch of Scotland with my dog feels like a good place to begin.
