What Are You Actually Using Your Life For?

There is a question beneath many of the questions we ask about work. We ask what we should do next, how we can become more successful, whether we should stay or leave, or what might make us happier, but underneath these more practical questions sits another, considerably more fundamental one: what are we actually using our lives for?

It is a different kind of question because it moves the conversation away from career development and towards how we choose to spend a finite life. Work occupies a substantial proportion of our waking hours, and its influence extends far beyond income or professional identity. Over time, the environments in which we work can shape our attention, relationships, ambitions, habits and, perhaps most subtly, our understanding of what is normal and acceptable.

Human beings are remarkably capable of adapting to their environments. From a neuroscience perspective, the brain is continuously predicting what is likely to happen next, drawing on previous experience to interpret the present and prepare the body for what may come. Our nervous systems also become familiar with the conditions in which we repeatedly operate. We learn what is expected of us, what is rewarded, what creates connection, what creates threat and what we need to do in order to function effectively within a particular environment.

This capacity for adaptation is essential, but it can also make it surprisingly easy to remain in circumstances that no longer fit us. We can become highly competent at functioning within a particular system without ever stopping to consider whether it is a system we would consciously choose. The fact that we are able to cope with something, does not tell us that it is good for us, nor does our ability to adapt indicate that we are living in alignment with what matters to us.

The body can sometimes provide information about this discrepancy before we are able to articulate it cognitively. Persistent tension, restlessness, dread, exhaustion or a sense of flatness can coexist with a life that appears successful from the outside. Equally, there can be moments of energy, curiosity or aliveness when we begin to imagine a different way of living. These experiences should not be interpreted as a simple neurological decision-making system, but they can provide valuable information about how we are experiencing our circumstances.

This is one of the reasons I have found the combination of transformational coaching and Somatic Experiencing particularly valuable in my work. Coaching can help us examine our beliefs, values, assumptions and choices, while somatic work creates space to become more aware of the physiological and emotional patterns that accompany them. The somatic work helps our bodies to respond differently. We can have considerable intellectual insight into our lives while remaining caught in patterns that are experienced at a much more implicit level. Understanding something cognitively does not automatically mean that we are able to respond to it differently.

My own understanding of this developed through burnout back in 2019. I performed well at what I did and enjoyed to some extent solving complex problems, improving systems, leading expert teams and helping organizations work more effectively. I was capable of performing at a high level, and there was a certain satisfaction in knowing that I could take something complicated, find solutions and make it work efficiently. Eventually, however, I found myself confronting a question that achievement had allowed me to postpone: just because I am capable of doing something, does that mean I should spend my life doing it? What is my body trying to tell me? What is that voice inside of me saying? What do I want to contribute with in this lifetime?

Becoming a mother made the questions considerably more tangible. Time acquired a different meaning, and I began to think less about career progression in isolation and more about the relationship between the limited hours available to me and what I wanted those hours to be in service of. The answer was not primarily success, status or financial achievement. I listened to the voice that I'd witnessed more and more of in my career already. I wanted to change organizations, create conscious cultures, where people thrive, knowing that the core interest was in people, human potential and the possibility of helping others recognize what is possible for them, reconnect with what truly matters and develop the courage to live and work in greater accordance with it.

This also changed how I think about the environments we choose. If we do not consciously consider the kind of environment in which we want to live and work, we are likely to adapt to the one we enter. The people we spend time with, the conversations we repeatedly have, the behaviors that are rewarded, the values that are taken for granted and the kind of energy that surrounds us all contribute to the context in which we develop. Over time, that context can influence our standards, ambitions, identity and definition of success.

For this reason, questions about environment are not simply questions about whether we enjoy our colleagues or whether a workplace has a pleasant culture. They are also questions about who we are becoming through repeated exposure. What kind of people do we want around us? What kinds of conversations do we want to have repeatedly? What behaviors do we want to regard as normal? What kind of environment brings out more of us? And perhaps more importantly, what are we currently normalizing that we do not actually want?

I have also become increasingly interested in what happens to our capacity to dream as we become older and more responsible. People rarely make a conscious decision to abandon their ambitions. More often, the questions gradually change. We begin with what we want, then become increasingly concerned with what is realistic, what we should do, what others need from us and, eventually, how to keep everything running. Without necessarily noticing it, we can move from creating a life to maintaining a life.

There is nothing inherently wrong with maintenance. In fact, maintaining a family, a career, relationships and the responsibilities of adulthood requires considerable capacity. The difficulty arises when maintenance becomes the organizing principle of a life and the capacity to imagine something beyond what currently exists begins to disappear. A person can have a good salary, a respected position, a family, a home and an impressive professional history, while feeling emptiness, flatness and loss of desire or an inability to imagine a future that feels genuinely their own.

Purpose is less about predicting a particular destination and more about developing a clearer sense of what deserves our time, attention and energy. It can help us consider what we want to contribute, what kind of person we want to become, which relationships and experiences matter to us, and what we are no longer willing to organize our lives around. Are you actually living, creating and enjoying your life or just maintaining it?

Ultimately, the question may be less about whether we are successful and more about whether the life we are building is consistent with what we value. If we continue living in much the same way, within the same environments and patterns, who are we likely to become?

Our lives are shaped not only by the decisions we make deliberately, but also by what we repeatedly give our attention, energy and time to. The environments we inhabit, the behaviors we practice and the relationships we maintain gradually become part of who we are.

Perhaps, then, the more important question is not simply what we want to achieve with

our lives, but whether the life we are creating is increasingly becoming ours.