Finding Purpose: My Ikigai Journey

I never planned to discover my life’s purpose while hiding from the Port Louis, Mauritius rain. Yet there I was, ducking into a bookshop in Caudan one dreary Friday afternoon in October. I was shaking droplets from my shirt and wandering aimlessly through the shelves. At that moment, I saw the spine of “Ikigai: The Japanese Secret to a Long and Happy Life.” I snorted. Another wellness trend, promising enlightenment in under 300 pages, caught my attention. Still, I was going nowhere. The downpour had to stop first, so I bought the book and headed to Artisan Cafe at the corner.

Two hours and three cups of overpriced tea later, I’d forgotten about the rain entirely.

Skepticism and Spilled Coffee

“It’s just a Venn diagram dressed up in Eastern philosophy.” I had this argument with my friend Kiran the next week at the Lux coffee shop in Bagatelle. He’d been raving about ikigai for months. That was actually my first exposure to the concept. I stumbled upon the book myself later. As I gesticulated too enthusiastically, I knocked over my cappuccino. A brown wave spread across our table. It landed on his white shirt.

“Still think the universe doesn’t want you to reconsider your life choices?” he smirked, dabbing ineffectually at the stain.

I rolled my eyes, but something had already taken root. The Japanese wellness philosophy described in the book kept nagging at me. It focused on discovering the intersection of your passion, profession, mission, and vocation. It wasn’t revolutionary. It articulated something I’d been circling for years. I hadn’t been capable of naming it before.

When Purpose-Driven Living Meets Reality

Three weeks later, I now call it “The Coffee Incident.” I sat in shock in my living room. I had just received the most brutal performance review of my career. “Lacks initiative.” “Seems disengaged.” “Technical skills are strong, but teamwork is inconsistent.”

I didn’t recognize the person they were describing. Or worse—maybe I did.

Instead of addressing the feedback, I channeled my anxiety into reorganizing my entire apartment. I color-coded my bookshelf, installed new bathroom fixtures, and alphabetized my spice rack. For three weeks, I created order in my physical space while my internal landscape remained chaos.

The ikigai book sat accusingly on my nightstand the entire time.

False Starts and Forgotten Journals

My first try at applying ikigai principles was typical of my approach to self-improvement—all enthusiasm, no follow-through. I bought a gorgeous leather-bound journal. It cost more than the book itself. I created elaborate colored diagrams. Then, I abandoned the whole project after four days.

Two months later, I found the journal while cleaning out my desk drawer. Only the first three pages contained any writing. Classic.

My second attempt wasn’t much better. I downloaded an “ikigai tracker” app. It sent daily reminders that I systematically ignored. Eventually, I deleted it in a fit of digital minimalism.

Finding my life purpose became a serious endeavor only after I experienced a profound low point. With the funding for the organization running dry, redundancy was becoming imminent. and I was without any backup plan.

Green Tea and Dawn Revelations

These days, my mornings start with a ritual. The whistle of my kettle sounds at 5:45 am. The earthy aroma of my local coffee permeates my apartment. I feel the weight of my journal. It is a simple composition notebook now. I learned my lesson about fancy stationery. I sit cross-legged by my east-facing window.

I start each day by identifying one small action in each ikigai quadrant:

• Something I love (sketching for 10 minutes)
• Something I’m good at (solving a technical problem at work)
• Something the world needs (mentoring a junior colleague)
• Something I can be rewarded for (completing that overdue presentation)

This daily purpose practice grounds me in ways years of mindfulness attempts never quite achieved. Still, I must admit to rushing through this daily purpose practice at times. I scribble barely legible notes while at the same time brushing my teeth. Perfection isn’t the point.

The Unexpected Benefit: Finding My People

The most surprising outcome of my ikigai journey wasn’t career clarity (though that came too). It was community. Every Thursday afternoon, I meet with three friends in Antananarivo for what we jokingly call “Ikigai Anonymous.” We discuss our purposes, our struggles, and our small wins.

Last month, work sent me to Johannesburg for a conference. I kept our tradition alive through FaceTime from my hotel room. I propped my phone against the mini-bar and sipped overpriced room service tea.

“You’re ridiculous,” my friend Emas laughed. “And dedicated.”

Both are true.

The Daily Contradiction

Here’s my confession: I embraced despite embracing this Japanese philosophy centered on presence and daily meaning. Yet, I still catch myself planning obsessively for the future. Just last week, I created a five-year projection spreadsheet at 1 AM while practicing “being present.”

I’m learning that finding life purpose isn’t about achieving perfect philosophical consistency. It’s about noticing the contradictions and smiling at them—another form of self-awareness.

Your Turn (No Pressure, Though)

If you’re still reading this, maybe you’re where I was that rainy day—curious, skeptical, but open. Consider this: what if you started small? Instead of starting with colorful diagrams or expensive journals, consider starting small. Just with one question before bed: “What made me lose track of time today?”

Notice the answer. Do it again tomorrow. That’s it.

Or don’t. I’m not your guide to finding ikigai. But if you decide to explore this path, know that you don’t need to move to Okinawa or achieve enlightenment. It only asks you to pay attention to where joy and meaning overlap in your life. Look at the strength and livelihood in your wonderfully imperfect life.

Mine certainly is. Imperfect, that is. But increasingly purposeful, too.