The Purposelessness of Purpose (and The Purpose of Purposelessness)

When life refuses to make sense, maybe nonsense is divine order.

My daughter Kaveri came to me last week with that look—you know the one. The existential crisis face that every twenty-something wears like a badge of honour these days. “Mama,” she said, “I don’t know what my purpose is. Everyone else seems to have figured it out.”

I looked at her. Then I looked at my phone, where I’d just scrolled past the seventh LinkedIn post that day about someone’s “journey to finding their authentic purpose” sponsored by a fintech startup. I looked back at Kaveri.

“You know what your purpose is my darling?” I said. “To stop looking for your purpose. Purpose is overrated. Joy is the jam. Look for joy instead.”

Look, we are drowning in purpose. We’re the first generation in human history to treat meaning like a scavenger hunt—as if the universe hid your life’s purpose somewhere between a TED Talk and a Bali yoga retreat, and you just need the right vision board to find it. Manifest it along with some new age manifestation magician out to empty your wallet for filling your heart with a glimmer of hope.

We’re not “seekers of truth”—we’re Wi-Fi-addicted monkeys doomscrolling for signs from the divine. Entitled thinking that makes us believe that life owes us our dreams, The truth is Life owes us nothing, and we owe it nothing back.

Yet here we are, refreshing X (yes, still weird to call it that) like the meaning of life might drop in 280 characters. Traffic light acting funky? Must be Mercury retrograde. Crush ghosted you? Obviously a Tarot prophecy. We’ve got tarot decks sold out, astrology podcasts topping charts, and that friend who skimmed two pages of Nietzsche and failed his BA literature exam , now peddling life advice on Instagram. We’re hooked on the idea that meaning is out there, gift-wrapped in someone else’s nonsense.

And doomscrolling? That’s our modern pilgrimage. We scroll through endless feeds like monks thumbing prayer beads, hoping for revelation. Instead, we get “10 signs your ex is a gaslighting narcissist” and a video of someone explaining why the moon landing was faked, sponsored by Max protein powder. But our brains don’t care—they’ll eat it all, because any food, even junk food, is manna for a starved soul.

If Friedrich Nietzsche were alive today, he’d take one look at your LinkedIn profile—every single one of us a “passionate thought leader committed to making an impact”—and laugh until he died. Again. Your Instagram would make him weep. And X – why? For rubbish sake whats this ex obsession.

Being ordinary is a sin in todays time—you gotta stack up those titles, rack up those achievements, or you’re basically invisible.

The philosophers, hey even the Gods _ Budha included, taught us we have to create our own values because there’s no cosmic meaning waiting for us, but instead of understanding what they meant, we turned it into an Instagram caption with a sunset and a green juice.

Nietzsche warned us about nihilism—the terrifying realization that life has no inherent meaning—and suggested we become our own meaning-makers. Instead, we outsourced the job to Deepak Chopra.

Arthur Schopenhauer the ultimate grump was even darker. He saw life as a pendulum oscillating between pain and boredom. That’s it. You suffer because you want something, you suffer because you got it and now you’re bored, so now you suffer because you’re bored and thats it. The cycle repeats. That’s life in a nutshell

And honestly? Sitting here in Mumbai traffic at 6 PM on a friday evening, consumed with boredom and road rage , I think Schopenhauer might have had a point.

Then there are the happy philosopher guys. Like Camus. The chain smoking rebel who refused to understand that his smoking addiction came from his childhood trauma. He smiled and smoked his way though it anyways . In his essay The Myth of Sisyphus (1942). Camus, a key figure in existentialist and absurdist philosophy, explores the human condition through the lens of absurdity—the conflict between our desire for meaning and the universe’s indifference to it.

Now you are likely to ask who the hell is this Sisyphus. Sounds like come kind of STD innit? Well In Greek mythology, Sisyphus was a cunning king of Ephyra who repeatedly defied the gods with his trickery and hubris. As punishment for his deceit—most notably cheating death twice—the gods condemned him to an eternal, futile task in the underworld: pushing a massive boulder up a hill, only for it to roll back down just before reaching the top, forcing him to repeat the process forever. It’s the ultimate symbol of pointless labor and unending frustration, a cosmic doom.

But Camus says, why assume Sisyphus is struggling? imagine him smiling instead. Why? Because the struggle is the point. Embracing the absurd is our only path to joy. Camus seemed to have cracked the code even then. That delulu is indeed the only sololu

When I’m asked at Mumbai parties “So what are you doing these days?” I pour myself another fine glass of merlot and quote Camus “I’m pushing boulders up the mountains like I have been doing for decades and watching them roll down again. You? How about you?” They run, and fast. Unless I’m flashing cleavage or looking really pretty that day. Then they may pause to ask me what is this Camus and Sisyphus concept? Is it a new startup I’m planning? Am I looking for funding?

The “todo” or “Nottodo” list, that is the question. And here is my answer.

See, purpose isn’t always purposeful. Sometimes its just pompousness. And purposelessness isn’t always pointless. Sometimes its just humility

We all know about bucket lists—that roster of experiences you’re supposed to have before you “kick the bucket.” Skydiving. Machu Picchu. Learning French. Blah blah

The 2007 movie with Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman made it seem romantic. But bucket lists have become just another way to feel inadequate.

I mean, really—you’re telling me I need to visit 47 countries, master three languages, write a novel, AND learn to surf before I die? I can barely remember to water my plants. My bucket list at this point is:

1) Not die yet. (my daughter Kaveri is too young- she dosent even know where her bank is)

2) See bullet point one.

So screw this bucket list shit. Lets talk about the fucket list list instead.

It’s the opposite of a bucket list. It’s the glorious art of saying NOPE to stuff you’re done stressing over. The permission your’e giving yourself to ditch toxic goals, abandon soul sucking ambition, and exit the hustle. Not doing is the new doing.

Look, I’m not anti ambition. A Do-It List is gold in your twenties and thirties—build that career, family, or skill. You can’t “fucket” your way through med school (unless you’re cool with being a terrible doc). Studies show purpose protects your brain and literally keeps you alive.

But here’s what nobody tells you: the search for purpose can kill you too. Tooooo much fkng pressure.

I have a friend—let’s call her Archana—who spent 20 years training to be a classical singer. Guru-shishya parampara, the whole deal. Riyaaz at 5 AM, concerts, competitions. Her mother’s dream, her grandmother’s legacy. She was good. Really good. But she was also miserable.

One day at 50, she looked at herself in the mirror and thought: “If I have to do this for 25 more years, I’ll either kill myself or kill someone else.”

So she stopped. Just like that. Put her tanpura in storage, deleted her Spotify artist account, and became a dog walker. Charging some fees for her services too. She hates people now- dogs are her saviour

Everyone in her family lost their minds. “But you’ve invested so much! Such talent wasted! What about your purpose?”

Her response? “My purpose is to not be suicidal. Everything else is negotiable.”

That’s the Fucket List in action.

Psychological research backs this up. Studies have found that during COVID people who disengaged from blocked goals—things they literally couldn’t achieve because of lockdowns—showed lower psychological distress, higher life satisfaction, and better mental health. The ones who kept clinging to impossible goals? They crashed. Plummeted. Got put on emergency lists of suicide helplines

In other words: sometimes quitting is winning.

You know what’s sad? Seventy-five percent of adults aged 25-33 are collapsing. Anxiety, mental health, he she pronoun dilemma etc etc. Three out of four young people are having existential meltdowns in their twenties.

Meanwhile, the traditional midlife crisis? Only affects 10-20% of people. It’s basically disappeared.

Why? Because young people today face something previous generations didn’t: infinite choice, infinite comparison, and infinite evidence that they’re failing. Social media turned everyone’s highlight reel into your source of daily inadequacy. You’re not just competing with your classmates anymore—you’re competing with every 23-year-old billionaire entrepreneur on Instagram who “retired” their parents and now sells courses on passive income.

A 2023 study found that young workers now report higher levels of despair than midlife and older adults—a complete reversal of the traditional U-shaped happiness curve.

While most Gen Z’s & millennials say that having a sense of purpose is important to their job satisfaction , They’re also the most burned out. Even before their life has truly begun.

You see the problem here? The generations most desperate for purpose are the ones drowning in the search for it. It’s like dying of thirst while swimming in the ocean—surrounded by water you can’t drink.

Purpose used to mean something, you know. Back in the days. Like to make the world a better place was a valid purpose.

It used to mean something Beautiful. True. Important. Poignant even that fired our soul and gave us a reason to live

But now it translates to adding value to others lives so I can build a business model I can capitlize

Mark Zuckerburg, and Bill Gates and Elon Musk. They are the new philosophers. Preaching hustle –

Confusing the younger generation to alter their understanding of purpose with their notion of productivity.

We think if we’re not optimizing every moment, we’re wasting our potential. If we’re not hustling, we’re lazy. If we’re not building our personal brand, we’re invisible. If we take a nap, we’re falling behind.

Bertrand Russell is one of my favourite writers. Especially when he said

“One of the symptoms of an approaching nervous breakdown is the belief that one’s work is terribly important.”

Read that again.

If you think your work is saving the world, you might not be a hero. You might need therapy.

Now Let’s talk about ikigai.

In the West, we’ve turned ikigai into a Venn diagram: what you love + what you’re good at + what the world needs + what you can be paid for. Nail that intersection, and hey—you’ve found your purpose.

Except that’s not what ikigai means in Japan. At all!

That Venn diagram was created by an American entrepreneur named Marc Winn. Japanese scholars look at it and go, “That’s not ikigai. That’s capitalism with a map.”

Real ikigai—the Japanese concept that’s helped Japanese live past 100—isn’t about monetizing your passion. It’s about small daily joys. Having a reason to get up in the morning. Enjoying your morning tea. Feeling useful to your community. Taking care of your garden. Connecting with friends.

It’s not a grand cosmic purpose. It’s the humility and intelligence to understand that there is no grand cosmic purpose

And here’s what they cited as their Ikigai : community involvement, helping neighbours, small routines, staying active. Not building empires. Not leaving legacies. Just being present and useful in small ways.

People with ikigai ( The Japanese kind of Ikigai not the American capitalist interpretation of it) have a 36% lower risk of developing dementia and 31% lower risk of functional disability. They live longer and lived better.

But they weren’t trying to change the world. They were just showing up for their little corner of it.

My daughter Kaveri- She’d been thinking about our conversation. “Okay Mama,” she said, “but if I’m not supposed to find my purpose, what AM I supposed to do?”

I thought about it. I thought about Nietzsche telling us to create our own meaning. I thought about Schopenhauer saying life is suffering. I thought about Camus & Sisyphus and that boulder he was pushing up the mountain only to have it roll down over and over again. I thought about all the careerists and manifestors and tarot card readers trying to earn through our confusion

And I said, “Kaveri, you’re asking the wrong question. You’re so obsessed with what you’re supposed to do that you’ve forgotten you’re allowed to just… be. Be your version of Happy. Your happiness does not have to equate to the worlds version of achievement. Joy never goes out of style”

How does one explain to one so young that there is no predetermined purpose. There is no divine plan. There is no cosmic instruction manual. You are radically, terrifyingly free.

And that freedom? It’s not a problem to solve. It’s the whole point.

Alright, look. I’m South Indian. My ancestors were temple priests. Dad recited mantras like nursery rhymes. So yes, I’ve been doing the poojas and aartis since childhood, and I’m not about to tell you spirituality is meaningless.. Infact I’m not even supposed to make up or use words like fucket.

But fucket. I am going to tell you this: stop outsourcing your peace of mind to purpose gurus on Instagram.

Here’s my proposed Fucket List for everyone drowning in the search for meaning:

Fucket, I’m done:

• Comparing my todays mess to everyone’s highlight reel
• Feeling guilty for Netflix binges
• Tying my worth to completing my todo lists
• Trying to monetize every hobby
• Pretending to be passionate about things that bore me
• Giving myself the persmission to change my mind
• Treating life like a math problem and cursing my bank account for not acing the multiplication game.

• Let some days be gloriously deliciously pointless
• Find meaning in small things—my chai, my daughter’s laugh, my dog’s adorable face
• Quit catching up with the energy vampires
• Work to live, not live to work
• Embrace boredom (it sparks creativity)
• Stop asking “what’s my purpose?” and start asking “what do I want to do today?”
• Remember that Sisyphus might have been happy not because he found meaning in why he was doomed to push that boulder up the mountain endlessly, but because he stopped asking the Gods why

Purpose isn’t a treasure hunt or a Bali retreat epiphany. It’s not in a book, app, or $500 workshop. It’s not something you unearth—it’s a story you scribble yourself to tame the chaos. And guess what? You can rewrite it anytime.

Stop waiting for the universe’s Post-It note of approval. Stop scrolling for permission to live. If nothing’s inherently meaningful, then everything can be. Purpose is DIY—like IKEA furniture, it’s a mess to assemble, screws go in wrong, but it’s uniquely yours.

Life’s an absurd improv comedy anyways—you’re on stage, script or not. So quit begging for lines. Make ‘em up.

And now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a hot date with doing sweet nothing. Call it purposeful purposelessness or whatever. Honestly, who cares? Let’s laugh at the void and sip some…