Unknown Purpose

Hello, friends of Flourish Forward!

It’s Annie here, checking in from my cozy corner in Eatonton, Georgia.

February in Georgia is doing exactly what February in Georgia does—grey, damp, low on sunshine, and cooler than my soul prefers. It’s the kind of weather that keeps me indoors, sipping tea, dreaming of brighter days, and wondering what will actually make me happy as I step into the second half of my 50s.

I'm stepping aside from my thoughts from my last post on how I am supposed to feel about things going on in the outer world of longevity right now and refocusing inward.

As many of you know, I’m preparing to make a big leap: leaving behind a long, structured career in accounting and… well, that’s the question mark that keeps circling in my head.

For the past four years I’ve been quietly pursuing my passion for nutrition and health as a hobby. At first, the idea of turning it into a new chapter felt so empowering—like I was finally about to align my days with something that truly lights me up. And let’s be real: accounting gave me financial security and a respected career, but it never once made my soul hum the way nutrition and health already do—even as just a hobby.

But now that the leap feels closer to reality, a deeper uncertainty has settled in. I’m not sure exactly what “lighting me up” looks like in practice, and that not-knowing is heavier than I expected.

But lately, I’ve been grappling with something deeper: a nagging uncertainty about my purpose in this new phase. The stress of it all has been overwhelming, and I wanted to share my raw thoughts in hopes that it resonates with some of you on similar journeys.

Most mornings right now I find myself in the sauna with tea in hand and my journal open, staring at the same few questions that won’t leave me alone. They keep circling, quiet but persistent:

• What do I actually want—not what sounds good on paper, not what looks impressive to other people, but what would make my ordinary days feel lighter and more alive?
• Is nutrition and health coaching really my next chapter… or is it the safe, logical bridge I’m building simply because I already speak the language?
• What if I spend the next five years chasing certifications, building a website, creating content, networking—and I still wake up one morning wondering, “Is this it?”

I’ve tried to answer those questions the way I’ve always answered hard questions: with action and yet another list of pros and cons.

I’ve spent hours researching retreats that promise clarity through long stretches of yoga and clean mountain air. I’ve signed up for yet another certification program—this one a National Board Certified Health & Wellness Coach credential that requires passing an exam and logging continuing education hours every year to stay current. (Sound familiar? It’s starting to feel suspiciously like the CPA path all over again.)

I keep making those classic Type-A lists:
“What I’m good at”
“What the world seems to need”
“What could let me contribute meaningfully while still keeping my days flexible”

…hoping that if I stare at them long enough, they’ll eventually intersect in some perfect Venn diagram and hand me The Answer.

And yet the more I do—the more boxes I check, the more tabs I leave open, the more future versions of myself I try to plan for—the louder that quiet, stubborn voice becomes:

But will this actually make you happy?

It’s not yelling. It’s not dramatic. It just sits there, patient and persistent, refusing to be drowned out by checklists or deadlines or shiny new credentials.

I’m realizing that maybe the real work right now isn’t adding more action items. Maybe it’s learning to sit with that question instead of immediately trying to fix it. Maybe happiness isn’t hiding behind the next certification or the perfect business plan. Maybe it’s somewhere in the space between “I don’t know yet” and “I’m still willing to find out.”

So for now I’m going to try something new (or at least new for me):
I’m going to let the lists sit on the table without forcing them to solve everything.
I’m going to give myself permission to dream about a life that feels light instead of just impressive.

And I’m reminding my inner taskmaster that “all in” doesn’t have to mean “all consumed”—especially when my husband and I are looking forward to more open calendars, more road trips, more mornings with nowhere we have to be.

The uncertainty is still here. The voice is still asking the hard question.
But I’m starting to believe that listening to it—really listening—might be the most productive thing I can do right now.

If you’ve ever been in a similar place—leaving a long career, chasing a new direction, trying to balance purpose with freedom—would you share what helped you?

With gratitude,
Annie