NdukuOutLoud

” I have always wanted to do this.”

I started playing at four years of age, and I haven’t stopped since.”

I just knew-ever since I held the mic, stepped into the courtroom-that I was going to do this for life.”

I’ve always been awed by people who knew. The ones who, from the earliest moments, had an unshakable sense of purpose. It’s not that their lives are perfect-every path has its potholes-but when you’re sure of the direction, the bumps feel more manageable. Like detours on a road you’re still excited to travel

Maybe I admire them because I wish I had that certainty too. Or maybe it’s because the idea of one singular, God-given purpose terrifies me. I’m not sure which. But what I know is that I’m endlessly drawn to these people-the ones who move through life with conviction.

And passionate people. Those who pour their whole selves into whatever they do-whether it’s teaching, cooking, or directing traffic. You can feel it, can’t you? That unmistakable energy when someone is doing something they care about. It’s in the way they speak, move, the way they show up.

Artists, as I tried to express in my previous post Hierarchy of Awe, are another group I deeply admire. They live in the tension between uncertainty and expression. They create despite doubt, despite fear, despite the world not always understanding. And in doing so, give us the permission to be.

And then there’s us. The ones who feel a little lost. Who wonder how we ended up in the professions that don’t quite fit. Who keep showing up anyway, doing our best, hoping that someday we’ll figure it out.

To us, I say: there’s courage in showing up. There’s dignity in doing the work, even if the path isn’t clear. Maybe purpose isn’t something you find-maybe it’s something you build, piece by piece.

So here’s to the certain ones.

To the passionate ones.

And to us all-for showing up, for doing the work, for holding on to hope.