Why? That’s probably a question most of us ask ourselves at some point in our lives. “Why do I exist?” “Why was I put on this world?” “Why do I act, think, and feel the way I do?” Recently, as I was struggling through a particularly difficult part of Steel and Valor (The Silent Champions Book 3), I found myself asking the same question. “Why am I pushing myself so hard at this?” Why was I stressing myself out, pushing myself beyond the limits of my endurance, and risking burnout over something that is, for all intents and purposes, simply a story? Yes, a very visceral, real story that I’m highly passionate about, but at the end of the day, “just one more” story among millions. As usual, that led to the bigger-picture question of “Why do I believe I’m the one to tell this story—or any story? Why would people listen to what I have to say?” Of course, that’s just the lovely voice of anxiety and self-doubt that comes with being an artist. I’ve learned to shut that voice down pretty quickly—usually by throwing myself fully into whatever project I’m working on until I forget about those feelings—but this time, I stepped back and examined it. I didn’t give in to the anxiety or self-doubt, but I DID take a look at that question. Why? Do I believe I was called to be a writer? I do believe my stories will bring good into this world, but I don’t expect them to be literary gold or bring about some spiritual or cultural enlightenment. Do I believe I deserve to be an author? I work as hard at it as anyone else—harder than many, I’ll admit—but I’m honest enough to acknowledge that there are many vastly more skilled than I am. Do I believe it’s my purpose in life? I want to say yes, because when I write, I feel like I’m doing the right thing. Like everything is right in the world because I’m sitting down and writing. But I’m not ego-centric enough to believe that some higher power put me on Earth for the sake of telling stories. It’s a strange thought journey to go on, but it led me to the real question: what is my purpose? The same question most of us have asked at some point. The one that doesn’t really have an answer. The word “purpose” means “the reason for which something is done or created or for which something exists”. Or, put in other words, your reason for existing. That thing you were MEANT to do. Explained like that, it sounds a lot like fate or destiny. While those concepts are fun on the pages of a story, they’re far less “realistic” than I’d like to believe for myself. Was I really put on Earth to achieve something? Was I brought into existence by some higher power—or pure random chance—for a specific purpose? In all truth, I can’t really find an answer to that question. But you know what? I’m actually okay with it! I don’t need to have some pre-determined purpose or reason for existing. I don’t need something telling me that I “should” do this because it’s why I was created. I don’t need a calling or something to make me special. It’s enough to know that I’m here, that I’m alive, that I exist. Perhaps not for some specific purpose, yet here I stand, as existing as the coffee mug on my desk or the computer clacking away beneath my very real fingers. As I dive back into the project that sparked this momentary existential crisis, it’s enough to know that I have something to look forward to, something to impel me onward. I can stop asking “what’s my purpose in life?” Instead, I can focus on doing whatever it is that makes me passionate and brings me joy, and make those things my purpose. In the end, I’d consider that a win!