Why Am I Doing Whatever It Is I'm Doing?

Everybody Does It, And So Do I

Lately, the quiet moments of my day have been peppered with whispers and echoes of one persistent question: Why am I doing what I'm doing? As a college professor, a theatre director, and professionally curious human, I’ve often navigated life through a web of passions. I do little bits of everything and am only really any good at a couple of very, very specific things that, I’ve come to learn, really aren’t that big of a deal to the wider world.

So, dude, you know how to direct Shakespeare plays in a very specific way. Whoop. Big deal. Get over yourself.

This contemplation is not an exercise in self-pity or regret. Instead, it's a reminder that while our choices define us, the reasons for those choices matter. The reasons have weight. Consequence. Meaning. The choices I've made, the roles I've embraced, from professor to dad, from actor to seeker, have all been fueled by a simple, yet profound desire—to make a difference, to touch lives, to stir souls. So even while I might feel pigeon-holed or regretful of the little corner of the world I’ve made for myself, the deeper stuff is the basis for some good gratitude.

And so, I come back to the question, realigning it slightly: Why wouldn’t I do what I’m doing? The answer: because every play unproduced, every lesson untaught, every moment unshared, would be a missed opportunity to ignite a flame, to build a bridge, to sow a seed of change.

Sometimes this gratitude thing works. Actually, more often than not. When I can make it a practice or an exercise or something.

But sometimes the days are too long and the feeling that I’m trapped in that web of my life’s choices too strong.

And this is helpful to notice, too. Feeling tangled or aimless is a shared human experience. In the heart of uncertainty, our truest stories emerge.

Everyone deals with this search for meaning, I think. The community that has the meaning is found in each other. And in each other’s meaninglessness.