And why it might just be the answer you didn’t know you were looking for.

I used to think purpose had to be this big, dramatic thing.

Start a business. Win a medal. Change the world.

But the older I get—and the more I train, reflect, and recover from injuries both physical and emotional—the more I realise that meaning isn’t always found in those headline moments. Sometimes, it’s in the quiet ones. The small rituals. The people you show up for. The things you do even when no one’s watching.

That’s where the Japanese concept of Ikigai comes in.

The Word Itself

Ikigai (生き甲斐) roughly translates to “a reason for being.” It’s the thing that gets you out of bed in the morning—even when you’re tired, sore, or feel like the world is on mute.

It’s not just about your job. It’s not some cheesy “follow your passion” slogan either.

Ikigai sits at the intersection of:

  • What you love
  • What you’re good at
  • What the world needs
  • What you can be paid for

You’ve probably seen the diagram online—four overlapping circles forming a little sweet spot in the middle. But real life doesn’t fit into neat diagrams. Sometimes that “reason for being” isn’t exciting or Instagram-worthy. Sometimes it’s just something that helps you get through the day. And sometimes, finding it only comes after you’ve been completely lost.

When the Line Breaks

When my mum passed away, I felt lost in a way I didn’t think was possible.

We were very close. I spoke to her every day. She was the one I turned to for advice, for support, for guidance. The routine of her being there—just the simple act of hearing her voice—was like a part of my foundation. And suddenly, it was gone.

I once described it to a friend—who had lost his mum around the same time—like this:

“It’s as if we were boats being gently pulled along by a tugboat. We weren’t even aware of it half the time. Then one day, the rope snaps. And you’re just… drifting.”

That’s exactly how it felt.

There was no dramatic breakdown. I just felt numb. Detached. Everything looked the same, but the world felt different. Like the volume had been turned down on life. I wasn’t depressed in the clinical sense—I was functioning—but I wasn’t there in the same way. I’d train. Work. Talk. But there was this weight in my chest. A quiet fear underneath it all. How do I go on without her?

Grief is hard to put into words. It’s not just pain or sadness. It’s this deep feeling of loss… almost like abandonment. A part of you knows it’s not rational, but it doesn’t matter. The one person who always had your back is gone—and now you have to face everything without them.

And yet… we cope. Somehow, we all do. Not because we “get over it”—you don’t. There’s no fix. It’s just a long, slow, gradual process. You carry it. You learn to live alongside it.

There wasn’t one moment where I felt better. It was more like a slow thaw. Each day became a tiny bit less painful. I’d get through a session without thinking about her. Then a day. Then a week. But I never forget. I never will.

What’s helped me is accepting it. Accepting the reality of life and death. Accepting that she’s gone, but in some way… still with me. She’s in my blood, my flesh, my bones. In my thoughts, my beliefs, my actions. That knowledge doesn’t erase the grief, but it gives it shape. It gives me something to hold onto.

And that, I think, is where Ikigai comes in.

Ikigai Isn’t Always What You Think

We tend to think of purpose as a career. A mission. A “thing.”

But sometimes your reason for being is something much quieter. It’s the people you show up for. The part of you that refuses to quit. The belief that you’re still meant to be here—even if you’re not sure what for.

Some days, my Ikigai is teaching someone something new. Other days, it’s just breathing deeply after training. Or writing something like this. Or remembering that I’m still capable of loving, helping, and growing—even without the one person I thought I couldn’t live without.

Ikigai doesn’t need to be big. It just needs to be real.

If You’re Grieving Too

I don’t have any magic words for you. There’s no quick fix. In fact, there isn’t a fix at all.

You just keep going.

That’s the truth no one tells you: You will make it. Not easily. Not quickly. But you will.

Accept the loss, as brutal as that sounds. Accept that life will be different now. That you will be different now. And in that acceptance, something will grow. Strength. Compassion. Clarity.

And maybe, just maybe—your own reason for being.

Final Thought

You don’t have to change the world. You don’t need to have it all figured out.
You just need something—anything—that keeps your boat moving when the line breaks.

That might be your Ikigai.
And it might be enough.