So you’re feeling lost. Again. Shocker.
You’ve read all the books, watched all the TED Talks, highlighted the hell out of every “Find Your Why” quote, and yet, you still feel like a Roomba—just bouncing off the walls of your life, hoping you’ll eventually stumble into some grand purpose.
Well, here’s a crazy idea: write your damn eulogy.
Yeah, that’s right. Sit down and try to summarize what you want people to say about you after you’re dead. Not what you hope they say. Not some résumé full of humblebrags. But the real sh*t. The stuff that matters.
Because here’s the uncomfortable truth: thinking about your death might be the most honest thing you ever do.
Purpose Isn’t Found. It’s Built Backward.
Most people approach purpose like it’s a scavenger hunt. “Oh, maybe if I backpack through Thailand or start a podcast, I’ll suddenly discover what I’m meant to do!”
Spoiler: you won’t.
Purpose isn’t a discovery. It’s a decision. And the clearest way to make that decision? Start from the end.
Ask yourself:
- How do I want to be remembered?
- Who do I want to be crying at my funeral?
- What stories do I want told about the kind of person I was?
If you can’t answer those questions, then what the hell are you doing right now?
Your Calendar Is a Confession
Once you’ve got your “eulogy draft,” pull up your calendar. Look at how you spent last week.
Does any of it—even a single damn hour—reflect the person you claim you want to be?
Because if you say you want to be a great parent, but you’re working 80 hours and FaceTiming your kid once a week like you’re a divorced magician, then your eulogy’s gonna be real short and real sad.
Same goes if you want to be generous, but you hoard money like a dragon sitting on a pile of Bitcoin.
Your time is your values. Your eulogy is your scoreboard.
The Eulogy Test Is Brutal. That’s the Point.
Writing your eulogy forces you to strip away all the noise—the hustle, the status-chasing, the performative productivity.
You start to see the BS for what it is.
- All those things you thought were urgent? Suddenly not.
- All those people you’ve been trying to impress? Suddenly irrelevant.
- All that guilt you’ve been carrying for not doing “enough”? Suddenly f*cking stupid.
Because at the end of the day, no one is going to give a speech about how you “crushed it at optimizing stakeholder alignment in Q4.” They’ll talk about who you were. How you made them feel. Whether your existence actually meant something to them.
So… What Now?
Once you’ve written your eulogy, here’s what you do next:
- Highlight the values in it. Generosity? Courage? Loyalty? Curiosity? Write them down.
- Cut one bullshit activity from your life this week. Just one. Maybe it’s doomscrolling. Maybe it’s that Zoom call that could’ve been an email from hell.
- Do one thing that future-eulogized-you would actually be proud of. Call your sibling. Write that book. Hug your kid and mean it. Stand up for something that matters.
Rinse. Repeat. And stop pretending you don’t know what to do.
Final Thought
You want to live a meaningful life?
Then start acting like someone who deserves a meaningful death.
Write your eulogy. Live in reverse. And maybe—just maybe—you’ll finally stop confusing movement with progress, and actually go somewhere worth going.